


The Ordinary Day

by Bamboozlepig



Category: Adam-12, Emergency!
Genre: Action, Gen, Graphic Violence, Graphic descriptions, Language, drama/angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 04:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 60,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bamboozlepig/pseuds/Bamboozlepig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ordinary day turns extraordinary for Pete and Jim when a deadly sniper situation occurs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Adam-12 and Emergency! are the property of MarkVII/Universal, no copyright infringement intended. **ALL ORIGINAL CONTENT OF THIS STORY IS THE SOLE PROPERTY OF BAMBOOZLEPIG AND MAY NOT BE USED WITHOUT PERMISSION.** In order to enhance the overall plot experience, creative liberties may have been intentionally taken with the real-life protocols depicted herein.

**Monday, September 21, 1975**

**11: 50 P.M.**

**Granite Court and Granite Park area**

_**It was just an ordinary day, like yesterday was, and tomorrow will be. There was nothing at all to mark this day from any other; the clock slowly ticked out the alloted twenty-four hours, the little box on the wall calendar reminded you not to use yesterday's date any more, the sun rose in the east and set in the west, traversing the sky with lazy solemnence. And, like all other ordinary days, people went about their usual business and daily routines. They went to work, they went to school, they did the housework. They clocked in at factories, they clocked in at offices. They folded laundry, changed diapers, washed dishes. They waited tables in fancy restaurants, they conducted board meetings. They pumped gas, they crunched numbers, they went shopping. They watched game shows and soap operas on tv, the lives of the fictional and the lucky showcase showdown winners infinitely more exciting than their own hum-drum existence. They took the car in for a tune-up, they dropped off a forgotten lunch at school. They placed letters in the corner mailbox, they walked the dog around the block. And some, enjoying this very ordinary day, decided to bask in the sun and warm temperatures in the bucolic beauty of the newly-opened Granite Park.** _

_**Lush green sod carpeted the two-block-long park, a gorgeous granite fountain spewed water over the sides of sloped ornate bowls, and poured into the large, glossy circular base, the wide edge big enough to sit on quite comfortably. Trees carefully landscaped and manicured stood majestic, while tiny seedlings who hoped someday to be like the big trees overhead reached their thin spindly branches to the sky. A wooden picnic pavilion with a green-shingled roof offered shelter for those who wished to picnic outdoors, but not under the sun's harsh rays. Other wooden picnic tables dotted the park's landscape, spots here and there to dine alfresco, spread schoolwork out and study, or just laze against. Benches also speckled the park; you could sit and feed the pigeons, watch the other park-goers, or laugh as your children played happily on the brand-new playground equipment, yet untouched and marred by vandals.** _

_**A beautiful stone fence surrounded the park, while a wrought-iron curved archway over the single entrance proclaimed its name. Antique-looking, but very modern streetlamps spaced along the sidewalk, lending the park a very Victorian air. A small lot at the front provided enough parking for those enjoying the beautiful setting. Granite Park was the crown jewel centerpiece of the brand-new four-story Granite Court addition, a nearly block-long office and retail building built on the dead-end Granite Court street, with a neighboring parking ramp built alongside for easy access. Inside the new building, quaint little shops would rub elbows with small law offices, brokerage firms, and realty offices. The developers already had most of the space rented for the grand opening, set to happen in two weeks' time. They were only awaiting the final building inspection before they could start to allow their new tenants to move in. For now, the building was vacant.** _

_**Across the street in the park, many people were enjoying the beautiful sunny day. Several mothers sat clustered around the picnic tables, carefully watching their youngsters frolic on the playground equipment, while they chatted amonst themselves. A brightly painted minibus emblazoned with the words "HappyTime Preschool" pulled to a stop in the parking lot and disgorged several shrieking youngsters and three harried, frazzled-looking teachers. They carried blankets and picnic baskets for a rare treat: lunch in the park. They watched as their charges swarmed over the playground equipment while they spread blankets out on the grass. An elderly couple sat on a bench and held hands, gazing smiling into eyes that remembered the before-times, pre-wrinkles and dentures and eyeglasses and thinning hair. Fifty years of marriage had not dimmed their love for one another. A handsome young Marine strolled arm-in-arm with a pretty brunette in a pink flowered dress. They gazed fondly upon the elderly couple, hoping that that would be them in fifty years' time.** _

_**A college kid sitting near the fountain exchanged shy glances with the beauty he was tutoring in math; he was trying to work up the courage to ask her to the fall mixer, while she was wondering if he'd ever get around to asking her. A handful of teenage boys and girls played hooky from school and lazed about the park, tossing a Frisbee and posturing vainly for each other, as only flirting teenagers can do. A park groundskeeper put the finishing touches on the wooden picnic pavilion, already booked with a party reservation for the upcoming weekend. A young mother cuddled her six-month old daughter in her arms, while watching her young son play on the monkey bars. She smiled as she thought of fixing her husband his favorite dinner tonight and dancing with him in their living room after they'd put the kids to bed. It was something they hadn't done since the baby was born.** _

_**Another college kid dozed under the tented book of philosophy he was supposed to be studying, while his friend played hacky-sack in the sunlight. Four businessmen in suits enjoyed a take-out Chinese lunch at one of the picnic tables, the boxes of food filled with moo-goo gai pan, noodles, chop suey, and fortune cookies for dessert. They laughed with each other and made bets as to what their fortunes would read. Another businessman sat farther away from them, munching on a turkey sandwich while reading the headlines of the day's newspaper. He smiled as he read the baseball box scores, maybe the Dodgers would go to the pennant this year after all. He made a mental note to remember to toss a couple of bucks into the office betting pool. Hell, who knew? He might win. Not enough to take his wife to Europe, like she wanted to go for vacation, but maybe enough to take her for a nice dinner and a show. He snagged up the dill pickle his wife had packed for him in his lunch, crunching down on it, and gazed idly at the other park-goers. It wasn't crowded, by any means, but it was busy, the air ringing with the joyful shrieks and yells from the playing children.** _

_**A lone figure dressed in camouflage from head-to-toe stood atop the roof of the Granite Court building, surveying the park across the street. The sun beat down on him from overhead, but he paid it no mind. A pair of binoculars hung from a strap around his neck, and he raised them to his eyes, momentarily scanning the people in the park below. Then he lowered the binoculars and looked at his watch. He still had time. He leaned his arms on the parapet of the roof and studied the park-goers, as he mused to himself just how clever he truly was. But cleverness should also be firmly backed up with carefully laid-out plans, and he'd done just that. He had triple-checked everything, from the weather, to the park, to the building he was on. He knew the layout by heart, what exits were where, how the doors locked, how the security systems were set up. And it was only a matter of intricate planning on his part, for he was nothing if not incredibly detail-oriented.** _

_**He was by himself in the building, he already made sure of that, having dispatched the security guard quite easily and with post-haste. He knew that the contractors working on the building had already finished up, and were only awaiting the final building inspection. So he was assured that no one from the contractor's office would be there today. His biggest problem that whole morning was lugging his equipment up to the roof. He'd had to unload a footlocker and several other items from his pickup truck out front, but he'd gotten it done with a minimum of fuss. He'd gone down to the basement of the building and disabled the security alarm, along with the elevators, including the service one he'd used to haul his equipment up to the roof. He also shut off the electricity to the place. He made a final round of the building then, locking all the fire escape doors and entrances from the inside so that no one could get in. When that was done, he made his way up to the roof one last time, making sure the fire escape door up there was held open by a large cinderblock. He scanned the people in the park below disinterestedly, then he turned around and moved away from the parapet. And no one in the park even noticed him up there.** _

_**He surveyed his set-up with a critical eye. He'd rigged a small shelter for himself out of a piece of tarp attached on one side to one of the building's big air conditioning units, while the other side of the tarp was attached to one of the air vents. He'd created the shelter for the purpose having somewhere for him to get in out of the sun when he felt like it. And he felt like it now, so he plopped down in a webbed lawn chair, popped open a can of soda, and settled back. He studied his equipment carefully. There was the footlocker, which held his most prized things, a transistor radio with batteries, a hand-held police scanner with batteries, a small cooler filled with energy bars, trail mix, and cans of pop. Reaching over and picking up the transistor, he tuned it to an all-news station, then he set it on the rooftop next to his chair. He picked up the police scanner next, turning it on to make sure the batteries were fully operational, then he set it down, also. He mentally checked over his final plans one last time. He looked at his watch once more, then dumped the remainder of his pop out onto the tar rooftop, settling his sunglasses over his eyes and straightening his camouflage ballcap. It was now noon, time to set his plan in action. He stood up, moving over to the footlocker. Flipping open the lid, he removed a sturdy tripod and quickly set it up, testing it once to make sure all the pieces locked into place. Next, he removed a small, remote control device, along with several small boxes, and set them down next to the tripod. Lastly, and lovingly, he removed his most treasured and favorite item from the footlocker, affixing it carefully to the tripod's swivelling plate. He leaned his head back, drawing in a deep breath of fresh air. It felt so good to be alive, he didn't want this day to end at all. He took one last survey of his settings and nodded to himself. It was time. He gave the tripod-mounted high-powered rifle with a silencer and scope attached one last caress, then he slipped his finger gently over the trigger, sighting in on the people in the park below.** _

_**And then he smiled. After all, it was just another ordinary day…** _

* * *

12:00 P.M.

**Routine patrol, Central Division**

"I almost didn't come into work today," says Jim Reed from the passenger seat of Adam-12. He sticks his arm out the window and waves to a bunch of schoolkids playing outside for recess on their school grounds. He smiles as they shout and run to the chain link fence in order to wave back.

I cast him a wary glance. "Why's that?" I ask. "You sick or something?" I slow the speed of the cruiser down so that Jim may acknowledge his adoring young fans.

He shakes his head. "No, it was my horoscope," he chuckles.

"Officer Friendly! Officer Friendly! Hi, Officer Friendly!" shout the kids with glee. Jim is the school's safety officer, otherwise known as Officer Friendly. It's too bad they don't know him by some of the other sobriquets I occasionally consider for him, such as Officer Doofus and Officer Mopey, or my all-time favorite: Officer-I-Don't-Wanna-Fill-This-Report-Out-So-You-Do-It-While-I-Get-A-Cup-Of-Coffee.

I roll my eyes. "You bonehead. You can't skip work because of your horoscope." Having passed the school, I goose Adam-12 back up to normal speed.

"I know it, Pete," he says. He falls quiet, gazing at the passing scenery with a small smile. He just waits, knowing what's coming next.

I sigh, taking the bait as always. Otherwise, he'll spend the rest of the watch sitting there with that silly-assed smirk on his face. "Okay, so what'd your horoscope say that made you not want to come in today?"

"It said 'Untold danger and disaster lurks on the horizon today. Use caution.'" he tells me. Then he waits patiently some more.

I roll my eyes as I bite again, like the idiot I am. "So what'd mine say today?"

"Untold danger and disaster lurks on the horizon today. Use caution."

I stare at him. "You're kidding, right? There's no way in hell my horoscope would read the same as yours, Jim."

He nods. "Yeah, that's what I thought. But it's funny, all the horoscopes listed say the same damned thing. Weird, huh? Maybe the planets are aligned funny." He snaps his finger. "That's IT! The moon is in the seventh house, and Jupiter has aligned with Mars, and peace will guide the planets, and love will rule the stars!"

I groan. "I wish you'd quit listening to the Fifth Dimension," I say.

He grins widely. "You're just jealous 'cuz Lawrence Welk went out of style ages ago."

I glare at him. "I do NOT like Lawrence Welk, pal. Jazz, yes. Some rock, yes. Easy listening, no."

"Let's face it, Pete, you're gettin' old," he jibes good-naturedly. "I predict a rocking chair and a cat dozing on your lap in the near future."

I grin wickedly. "Oh, I can see a rocking chair, all right. And a cat, yes. A delightful little sex kitten I can teach to purr for me. And together, we'll make the chair rock."

"Dirty old man," he says, laughing.

I nod, chuckling. "Damned straight." I shrug. "Your stupid horoscopes were likely a misprinted error on the newspaper's part."

"What if it's not?" he asks.

"Disasters and danger come in many forms, Reed. It can mean anything from a plugged up toilet to a splot of mayo on your uniform. I wouldn't worry about it."

"Says the wise elder," he comments.

"Ah, you're learning, young grasshopper," I tell him wryly. "I've taught you well."

He shrugs. "I've learned at the hands of the master," he tells me gravely.

"Thanks."

"Yeah, remind me to thank Mac for his wise words when we get to the station," he says, completely deadpan.

"Smartass," I tell him with a snort.

"Yeah, but you like me anyway, right?" He regards me with one of those high-wattage Jim Reed grins.

I shake my head, grinning back. "No. I only put up with you 'cuz Ed Wells is even worse."

"You comin' over to watch the fight on tv Saturday night?" he asks.

"I planned to. Did you want me to bring anything?" I ask.

"Um…yeah. Bring the pretzels and the chips. I'll supply the beer and sandwiches."

"Is Jean okay with that?" I ask.

He gives me an evasive look. "Yeah," he says with a nod. "She's got plans that night to meet with one of her friends from her writing class." He doesn't elaborate, and I know not to push him, since the Reed's marriage has been somewhat rocky as of late.

I glance in the rearview mirror and see a car speeding up on us. It zips out around us in the left-hand lane, and continues on, doing well over the posted speed limit.

"You're gonna go after that car, right?" Reed asks, pointing out the windshield at the car that has nearly left us in the dust.

"You bet I am. They'd better have a damned good excuse for passing a police car like that," I say, pushing down on the accelerator in order to catch up to the speeder. I quickly catch up to them and fall in behind them, giving two blasts on the horn so I can get their attention and direct them to pull over. Signalling, the blue Ford Galaxy pulls over to the curb and I pull in behind it.

Reed picks up the radio mike. "Dispatch, this is One-Adam-12. Run a check on license plate 452 Ocean-Victor-Nora," he says.

_"One-Adam-12, stand by,"_  comes the dispatcher's voice. A few seconds later she comes back on.  _"One-Adam-12, license plate 452 Ocean-Victor-Nora is a 1973 blue Ford Galaxy, registered to a Richard or Leona Zehring, of 2556 Sepulveda. No wants."_

"One-Adam-12, roger. Show us code six at the corner of Pico and Western on a traffic stop," Reed tells the dispatcher.

_"Roger, One-Adam-12,"_ she replies.

We both get out of the squad car and approach the Galaxy. Reed stops near the back passenger side, while I go up to the driver's side window. "License and registration, please," I say to the only occupant, the driver.

She is a pretty blonde teenager in a red shirt and blue jeans and she looks up at me with a giggle. "Is there a problem, Officer?" she asks, batting her eyes at me.

"May I see your license and registration, please?" I repeat once more. I exchange an eye-roll over the roof of the car with Reed.

She fusses with her purse, pulling out a shiny red leather wallet. She hands it to me. "There, it's in there."

"Take it out of the wallet, please," I tell her.

She opens the catch on the wallet and pulls out her license, handing it to me. She smiles widely at me.

"I need your registration, too, Miss," I tell her.

"Oh, silly me!" she burbles. She reaches over to the glovebox and fishes the registration out, giving the piece of paper to me. "I just don't understand why you stopped me, Officer," she says. "I didn't think I was doing anything wrong."

"Is this your current address, Miss Zehring?" I ask her. "2556 Sepulveda?"

She nods, making her large hoop earrings sway dangerously. "Yes, it is."

Reed has come around to the trunk of the car and I hand the license and registration to him. "Run her," I tell him. Then I turn my attention back to the girl. "You came up behind us at a fairly high rate of speed back there," I tell her. "Then you proceeded to pass us, still speeding, and when you pulled back into the lane, you were still going too fast."

"Oh!" she says, tapping her finger against the steering wheel of the car. "I didn't know the speed limit back there."

"It's posted 35 miles per hour," I tell her. "And you were doing well over that, I can assure you."

"But I didn't see any signs," she says.

"They're there," I say. "You just needed to look."

"So, you're gonna write me a ticket?" she asks. "Even though I didn't see the signs?"

I nod. "I am. Wait in the car, please." I go over to Reed, who is getting information from the dispatcher.

He looks up at me as I approach. "She's clean. No wants or warrants," he says. "You want me to write her?" He has the ticket book in his hand.

"Yeah, go ahead," I say.

The driver has ignored my request to stay in the vehicle and has gotten out. She comes around to the back of her car. "You're really going to write me?" she asks.

"Yep," I say.

"Even though I didn't know the speed limit?" Her voice holds a bit of dismay.

"Yep," I say once more.

"I won't sign it," she snaps, her attitude taking a turn for the worse. "I won't sign the damned ticket. This is ridiculous. Do you two know who my father is?" She folds her arms and taps her foot impatiently.

I shake my head. "Nope." We get this a lot, the old  _oh, do you know who my father/uncle/brother/boyfriend/husband/neighbor_   _is?_  routine. I could almost guess at what her next words would be. She was going to claim her daddy was an attorney, and therefore his darling daughter shouldn't be given a traffic ticket, on account of him being a lawyer and all.

"He's Richard Wendsworth, attorney at law. He's a very prominent attorney here in Los Angeles. Surely you've heard of him?" Her tone drips with derision.

"No, miss, sorry. We haven't," I say.

Reed has finished writing out the ticket and holds the book out for her to sign. "If you'll just sign here, miss, you'll be on your way," he tells her.

"I told you, I won't sign it," she snaps at him.

"It's not an admission of guilt, it's merely a promise to appear in court at this date and time," Reed tells her patiently. Like I said, we get this a lot. "You can fight the ticket then, if you wish."

She tosses her long blonde hair, fixing us with a narrow-eyed gaze. "And if I don't sign it?" she asks ominously.

"We'll be forced to take you to jail," I reply.

"You'd take me to jail over a TRAFFIC ticket?" she asks in astonishment.

"If that's the way you want to play it," I tell her. "It really makes no difference to us, one way or the other. But it might to you. Jail isn't all that pleasant of a place to go to, especially over a traffic ticket."

With a sigh, she takes Reed's ticket book and pen, scribbling her name furiously. She shoves the book and pen back to Jim, glaring at me. "There. I signed the damned thing. Are you happy?" she asks snidely.

"Incredibly so," I tell her in a bored tone, as Jim tears off her copy of the ticket and hands it back to her, along with her license and registration.

"Honestly," she gripes, snatching her papers back. "You think you pigs would have something better to do with your time than harass innocent people."

I give her a small smile utterly devoid of any humor. "Have a nice day now," I tell her in a bit of a snide tone of my own. "And remember to drive the speed limit."

"Screw you," she snaps, huffing off to her car. Flipping us the bird, she climbs in and pulls away from the curb, carefully obeying the speed limit.

"She told you, huh?" Reed grins as we climb back into the squad car.

"Yeah," I say. "My feelings are so hurt. I will cry HUGE tears into my pillow tonight because of it." I nod at the radio. "Clear us."

Still grinning, he picks up the radio mike. "One-Adam-12, clear."

_"One-Adam-12, roger,"_  replies the dispatcher.

Reed replaces the radio mike back onto the holder, shaking his head. "Just another ordinary day on the streets of L.A., huh?" he says ruefully.

I sigh. "Yeah, you got it," I tell him.

_"One-Adam-12, One-Adam-12, copy a domestic, 496 East Elm Street,"_  says the dispatcher as she sends us on another call.  _"Respond code two."_

"One-Adam-12, roger," Jim says into the mike.

We're only about a half-mile away from the call, so we get there quickly. When we pull up to the curb, there's a cluster of curious neighbors standing around outside on the sidewalk, watching as a shrieking woman in a pink housecoat and curlers tosses clothing and other items out onto the lawn of the residence. A man, clad in an undershirt and brown pants, stares bewilderedly at the clothes flying past his head. Reed and I exchange a glance as we get out of the car. "I'll take the male subject," I tell him. "You take the female." He nods, and we start up the sidewalk to the house.

"Oshifers," the man says as he spots us. "I'm sho glad you're here. My wife is trying to kick me out of my housh." He sways unsteadily as we approach, and even from several feet away, I can smell the booze rolling off of him. "Pleash, do shomething," he says.

"You keep that rat bastard away from me!" shrieks the woman from the porch. "I don't want him here! Take him to jail! Let him sleep it off in the damned drunk tank!" She pitches another armload of clothes out onto the lawn for emphasis.

"You shee?" he asks. "She'sh gone complete… _hic_ …ly crazy. All I had wash ONE little drinky, and she goesh nutsh. HIC!"

I recoil involuntarily from the smell of beer and rank body odor. "Um…yes, sir," I say placatingly. "May I see your driver's license please?"

"Oh no," he says solemnly. "I don't have one. It got taken… _hic_ …away from me for too many DUI's."

_Imagine that,_  I think to myself. "Do you have anything with your name on it, your social security card, a credit card, anything like that?" I ask. I glance up to see how Reed's faring with the female half, and he appears to have her calmed down a bit.

My subject nods sagely. "I have a shocial shecurity card," he tells me, fumbling in his pants pocket for it. He pulls it out and hands the whole wallet to me.

"Could you take it out of the wallet for me, please?" I ask politely.

"Shertainly," he says, grandiosely flipping the wallet open and removing his social security card. He hands it to me with a boozy flourish.

I study the name. "Mr. Leonard Kretzwinkle?" I ask. "Is that your name?"

He nods. "Indeedy, Oshifer. I've lived here at thish addressh for ten yearsh now. Never had a problem until today. I take one little drinky and she goesh bonkersh."

Reed comes down the walkway towards me. "Pete, can I talk to you for a minute?" he asks.

"Sure," I say. "Stay here, Mr. Kretzwinkle," I tell the drinky drunky.

When we're out of earshot of the two combatants, Reed begins to speak. "Mrs. Kretzwinkle is going to call a friend of his to come pick him up. He can stay at the friend's house until he sobers up. She doesn't want him taken to jail, just away from the residence for today and tonight."

"Any sign of assault on her?" I ask.

Reed shakes his head. "No. She says he never hits her when he gets drunk, he just gets goofy."

I look past Reed's shoulder at Mr. Kretzwinkle, who is trying to pick his clothing up from the lawn, and not having much success. He keeps losing articles of clothes out from under his arms. "If he agrees to go with the friend, I don't see any problem with that. We'd better ask him, though, and make sure it's fine with him."

"Okay," Reed says.

We approach Mr. Kretzwinkle, who is staring confoundedly at the clothing trail behind him. "Mr. Kretzwinkle, your wife is willing to call a friend of yours to come pick you up and keep you until you sober up. Do you have a problem with that?" I ask.

He looks up at his wife on the porch. "You'll call Larry?" he yells.

She comes down off the porch, arms folded across her chest. "Yes, you old fool. I'll call Larry for you. He'll come and get you, like he always does. You either go with him or you go to jail. It's your choice, Lenny."

His lower lip pooches out and begins to tremble. The drinky drunky is getting weepy, never a good thing. "Aw, you're a good wife, Mavis," he says, tears spilling down from his eyes. "I shtill love you."

She rolls her eyes and sighs. "Yeah, Lenny, I still love you. But not right now. Just agree to go with Larry and I'll get this mess picked up, okay?"

"Okay," he mumbles. "I'll go with Larry, honey. Whatever you say."

"Is there going to be any more problems after we leave?" I ask, handing Mr. Kretzwinkle his social security card back. "Because if we get called back out here again, someone's going to go to jail."

Mavis shakes her head. "No, there'll be no more trouble, Officer. Thank you for coming out. Sorry to have bothered you."

"It's not a problem, ma'am," Reed tells her. "That's what we're here for."

"All right," I say. "You listen to your wife, Mr. Kretzwinkle, and go with your friend for today and tonight. Then you can come back tomorrow, after you've sobered up, okay?"

"Okay," he says. "Whatever you shay, Offishers." He waves bye-bye to Reed and I as we head back to the patrol car and climb in.

"How about we start thinking about where we wanna take seven at?" I ask as we pull away from the curb. "I'm kinda starting to get hungry."

"Maybe that new sub shop over on Ventura?" Reed asks. "I hear they make a mean meatball sub."

"Sounds good. Go ahead and request it," I tell him.

"Dispatch, this is One-Adam-12, requesting code seven at Gary's Subs at 2313 Ventura Boulevard," Reed says into the mike.

_"One-Adam-12, continue patrol,"_  replies the dispatcher.

"One-Adam-12, roger," Jim says. He replaces the mike and turns to me. "I guess we'll have to wait for awhile," he tells me.

"Typical," I sigh. "It's just another ordinary day."

* * *

12:05 P.M.

**Granite Court and Granite Park area**

_**Through the scope of the rifle, he watched the people in the park below with a dispassionate air. He scanned the many random faces, trying to decide on a suitable target. He wanted someone who could be used to set the initial chain of events into motion. Someone whose sudden collapse might be noticed by a few, but ignored by the others. He didn't want to frighten them just yet, it wouldn't do to have his plans unravel by a screaming mob fleeing the park. With a sigh, he scanned the faces once more, and then one jumped out at him as far as suitability. The lone businessman who'd been enjoying his lunch and the paper in the park stood up from the picnic table, carefully taking his trash over to a nearby trash barrel and discarding it. And that was the last thing he would ever do. He started to turn, paper tucked under his arm, and the man on the roof pulled the trigger at that precise moment. Clutching his chest, the businessman keeled over onto the grass, dead from the bullet wound to his heart. Stepping back from the rifle, the man on the roof watched as one of the young mothers noticed him fall and approached the face-down man, feeling at his neck for a pulse. She motioned for one of the other young mothers to call for help at a nearby pay phone, and while the woman was doing that, she tried to roll the man over onto his back. With the help of another mother, she got him rolled over, and the two of them gazed horrified at the blood seeping from the wound in his chest. But since no one had witnessed what really happened, they weren't sure how the businessman ended up getting shot. Backing off in fear, they returned to their picnic table to await the arrival of help, while their children played unconcernedly on the playground equipment nearby. No one else noticed the dead man on the grass, completely oblivious that he'd been executed just yards away from them.** _

_**The wail of a siren approaching in the distance heralded the arrival of the calvary. One of the young mothers, clutching her baby to her shoulder, ran out into the middle of the dead-end street to flag down the rescuers. The man on the roof watched her dance frantically in the street for a minute, then he calmly pulled the trigger, dropping her dead with a well-placed shot to the head. She crumpled to the ground, her child screaming in her arms, and he quickly silenced the baby's cries by blowing its head off. Mother and child lay in the roadway, gunned down like they were rabid dogs. The man turned his attention to the siren-screaming vehicle coming up the street. He smiled as he saw it, a black-and-white sheriff's car. It screeched to a halt in the middle of the street and the black-uniformed deputy got out and started to approach the dead woman in the street. A shot to the throat felled him alongside her, his white helmet thumping hard against the ground as he dropped.** _

_**People in the park began to take notice of the commotion on the street. A few curious ones had wandered towards the sidewalk when they heard the siren stop nearby. The man on the roof searched their faces as they babbled silently among themselves, gesturing to the dead woman and baby in the street, alongside the dead sheriff's deputy. Confusion colored their faces and he giggled to himself as he picked one of the scowling buisnessmen out for his next target. Carefully squeezing the trigger, he fired a shot into the man's stomach, causing him to crumple in agony, his hands over his gut. Faces began to look around as people tried to figure out just what the hell was happening. So the man fired another shot at a teenage girl, her arm linked with another girl's, blowing her head off in a mist of red and grey. Screaming, the other girl started to dance away in horror, but he fired on her, too, driving a bullet home through her heart. People began to panic now, as they realized they were being fired upon from somewhere nearby. Shrieking, some tried to flee into the park, while others tried to flee to their vehicles. Shouts of "Gunman!" rang out and spread rapidly through the park like wildfire. The preschool teachers hurriedly tried to gather up their charges and make for their brightly painted minibus, but he fired at them, catching one little girl in the shoulder, blasting it to shreds. He shot at one of the teachers, severing her spinal cord with a quick shot to the neck. She flopped to the ground like a broken marionette. One of the young mothers tried to coax her little boy down from the monkey bars; the gunman got him down for her with a shot to the chest. The little boy dropped to the sand below, his mother screaming next to his dead body. Some of the frightened people streamed out into the street below, and he peppered them with shots, killing a few, wounding a few. Some he allowed to limp back to what little cover the parked automobiles offered. He wasn't going to kill everyone, not yet, anyway.** _

_**Siren wailing, a red Los Angeles County rescue truck came roaring down the street and screeched to a halt at the curb. With dismay, he realized that it was evidently county's jurisdiction in which this park and building fell into, not the city's like he'd planned. It was a minor crimp in the details, but he'd deal with it. Grumbling, he took aim at the windshield of the truck, the sunlight blazing down on it nearly blinding him. He fired a couple of shots into it that shattered the glass, and he was amused to see two blue-shirted paramedics bail out the passenger side of the truck in a big fat-assed hurry. They dived for cover at the side of the rig, putting them out of sight of the man on the roof.** _

_**He turned his attention back to the people in the park. He noticed that everyone had scrambled for cover wherever they could find it for now. He watched them, cowering behind overturned picnic tables, benches, the granite fountain, the park pavilion, the low stone wall. Those that couldn't find shelter huddled as close to the ground as they possibly could. He could hear the sobs and moans of the truly scared and grievously injured. He noticed one of the teenaged boys peeking his head up from over the fountain, and a shot from the gunman took the kid's head off.** _

_**The low moaning siren of an approaching fire engine caught his attention. But instead of coming down the road, the fire truck stopped in the street, about a block and a half away from the scene of carnage below. With a grimace, he realized that the firemen aboard and their truck were out of his shooting range. The modifications he'd made to the rifle in order to improve its accuracy had cut down on its range. Oh well, no matter. He noticed one of the young mothers he'd already wounded was making a desperate crawl on the sidewalk towards the paramedics. He allowed her to get to the front of their rig, then he fired into her chest, killing her. He saw one of the medics start to dart out to help the fallen woman, but a quick shot over the medic's head made him change his mind. Just for good measure, the gunman took aim and shattered the red light bar at the top of the vehicle, the headlights, the two tires on the left side of the truck, and the sideview mirror on that same side. So they wouldn't get any ideas about trying to help any of the wounded. He stopped firing momentarily, gazing at his watch. His whole attack had taken less than ten minutes, he estimated. He threw back his head for a moment, brimming with joy. He was doing what he was born to do, be a cold and calculating sniper on a rooftop. Only HE decided who would live and who would die. He would kill and maim with abandon, striking stark fear into the hearts of those that cowered whimpering below. And when he got through, he was sure that he'd leave no one alive, he was certain of that. For he was GOD! and he was hunting humans. And that powerful notion made him feel exhilarated, alive. He was going to be something he'd always longed to be: famous.** _

_**Turning away from the gun a moment, he grabbed up the police scanner and turned it up. With a sigh of disgust for himself, he realized that he had only programmed in the city police bands, and not the county bands on the scanner's crystals. He paused, thinking. Surely the county deputies couldn't be expected to handle an incident like this on their own, could they? And he could have sworn that he'd heard that part of this area was in the city jurisdictional lines. He waited, keeping an eye on the people below. He fired a few random shots over their heads, just to keep them bowed down for now. And then the scanner in his hand crackled to life, giving him the message he wanted to hear, the female dispatcher's voice calling out over the airwaves with precise words.** _

" _ **One-Adam-12, One-Adam-12, assist county fire at 1000 Granite Court…"**_

* * *

12:15 P.M.

**Routine patrol, Central Division**

" _One-Adam-12, One-Adam-12, assist county fire at 1000 Granite Court,"_  comes the dispatcher's voice over our radio.  _"Respond code three."_

Reed picks up the mike, looking puzzled. "One-Adam-12, roger," he says into it. Clicking it off, he looks at me. "Wonder what that's all about?" he asks. "County usually doesn't ask for our help on their calls, especially county fire."

I reach over and flip on the lights and siren. "Dunno," I say with a shrug. "Maybe they have a big fire and need traffic control or something."

He leans forward and peers out the windshield. "I don't see any smoke or anything," he says. He frowns. "Granite Court," he says thoughtfully. "That's that development that was the subject of a bit of dispute over city and county a few months ago, I think."

I flick a glance over at him, then keep my eyes on the road. "I guess I don't remember it. What was it about?"

"Jurisdiction," he says. "Whose area the development landed in. There was a boundary issue. One side of the street is in county's jurisdiction, while the other side of the street is in the city's. It gave the zoning board fits, if I recall right. They finally resovled it by dividing the jurisdiction right down the middle of the road." He shrugs. "Maybe it's a city call that was given to county by mistake, and they don't want to handle it."

"Could be," I say. The radio interrupts me before I can say any more.

" _One-Adam-12, and any available units that can respond with One-Adam-12, meet Los Angeles County Fire Engine 51 at the corner of Adamson Avenue and Palmtree Drive,"_ the dispatcher tells us.

"One-Adam-12, roger," Reed says once more into the mike. He bites his lip. "Bomb threat, maybe?" he asks.

"They haven't asked for the bomb squad yet," I say. "Maybe it's a family dispute or something. Or a bar…"

The dispatcher interrupts me again.  _"One-Adam-12, and all units responding with One-Adam-12, copy further information on this call. LA County Fire Engine 51 reports that their paramedic unit is under fire from a sniper at 1000 Granite Court."_

Reed and I exchange astonished looks. "Did she say a SNIPER?" he asks. Grabbing the mike up, he clicks it. "Dispatch, this is One-Adam-12, requesting a repeat on that last transmission," he says.

" _One-Adam-12, and all units responding with One-Adam-12, LA County Fire Engine 51 reports that their paramedic unit is under fire from a sniper at 1000 Granite Court,"_  the dispatcher patiently repeats.

"One-Adam-12, roger," Jim says. "Christ, a SNIPER?" he asks.

" _One-Adam-12, please advise what you have when you arrive on scene,"_ the dispatcher says.  _"We are receiving multiple calls regarding a sniper shooting at subjects in the Granite Court and Granite Park areas."_

"One-Adam-12, roger," Jim says. "We'll advise of the situation when we arrive on scene."

I turn the corner and reach over, turning off the lights and siren. "We're coming up on Adamson and Palmtree," I say.

Reed points to a big red fire engine parked on the street. "There's Engine 51," he says.

I pull the squad up next to the fire truck and the two of us get out. The fire captain approaches us. I recognize him as Captain Hank Stanley from Los Angeles County Fire Station 51. "What do you have?" I ask. "Dispatch told us it was a possible sniper."

"It's not a possible sniper," he tells us grimly. "It IS a sniper. He's got two of my paramedics pinned down by their truck. They report that there are several casualties and injuries that they can see from their vantage point. They're unable to get to anyone though, he shoots at them whenever they try." He gestures up the street to the scene that lies about a block and a half away from us. "You can see for yourselves."

Jim and I both look up the street where he points. And what we see on the street before us is like something right out of Dante's Inferno. Shock turns to disbelief, turns to horror as we visualize the gruesome scene. The dead and the dying lay scattered on the pavement, like soldiers fallen on a bloody battlefield. "Oh, sweet Jesus Christ," I breathe, completely stunned. I reach in through the open window of the patrol car and grab up the mike. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I click it and begin to speak. "Dispatch, this is One-Adam-12…"

* * *

" _Dispatch, this is One-Adam-12, do you copy?"_

" _Dispatch copies, One-Adam-12, go ahead with your traffic."_

" _Dispatch, we appear to have an active sniper situation in the vicinity of 1000 Granite Court. Request One-L-20 and all units responding to this to meet me on Tac2."_

" _Roger that, One-Adam-12. One-L-20, did you copy One-Adam-12's traffic?"_

" _One-L-20 copies. Switching over to Tac2...One-Adam-12, this is One-L-20 on Tac 2, what exactly have you got, Pete?"_

" _Mac, we've got a sniper somewhere in the area of Granite Court. We're unable to ascertain his location at this time. We believe he's either on the roof of the Granite Court building or in the parking ramp right next to it. County fire reports numerous injuries and possible fatalities on the ground and in Granite Park. We have several civilians pinned down by gunfire, along with a county paramedic unit. Request a SWAT team, logistics truck, sound truck, and several ambulances be set to our location at Adamson Avenue and Palmtree Drive. Also request Air Ten if available."_

" _Roger, Pete. I'll go ahead and have dispatch call for the SWAT team and the ambulances, along with Air Ten. Can you give me an appoximate estimation on the number of civilians involved?"_

" _Uh…roger, Mac. It appears at this time that this is likely going to be a mass casualty incident. It looks like there's multiple fatalties and injuries, primarily in the park across the street from the gunman's location. I'd like a clear radio frequency to continue to transmit information."_

" _Roger, Pete. Stay on Tac2. All responding units stay on Tac2."_

" _One-Adam-11 copies, remaining on Tac2."_

" _One-Adam-14 copies, remaining on Tac2."_

" _One-Adam-43 copies, remaining on Tac2."_

" _One-Adam-49 copies, remaining on Tac2."_

" _Mac, this is Pete. You might want to have the dispatcher switch over to Tac2 also, just so we don't have to keep switching back and forth with information. That way she'll be advised of what we need right away."_

" _Roger that, Pete...Dispatch from One-L-20 on main ops, please switch over to Tac2 for the duration of this incident."_

" _Roger, One-L-20, dispatch is switching over from main ops to Tac2."_

" _Dispatch from One-L-20, request that you go ahead and activate the SWAT team and have at least two ambulances sent to this location. Also roll the logistics truck and a sound truck. I'll advise if we need further when I arrive on scene."_

" _Dispatch copies, One-L-20. Will activate SWAT team and request ambulances to be en route."_

" _One-L-20, this is Air Ten. We've been copying your traffic on Tac2 and are en route to your location now. We have about a ten minute ETA from the heliport to the area. We'll remain on Tac2."_

" _Roger, Air Ten, from One-L-20. Pete, does it look like there's any buildings that will need to be evacuated?"_

" _Possibly, Mac. We're not sure if the office building across the street from the park is open to the public yet or not. County fire is looking into that for us right now. We've got another building on the corner that should be evacuated, along with a used car lot. Uh…from what we can see here on the ground, you might want to consider activating the mass casualty and trauma teams from the area hospitals. I think we're gonna need more than just two ambulances on scene. This looks pretty bad, Mac."_

" _Roger, Pete. I'll make that decision when I arrive on scene. I have about a ten minute ETA to your location. Just stand by for now."_

" _Copy, Mac. We're standing by."_

_**And, up on the rooftop of the brand-new, yet-to-open Granite Court building, the gunman also stood by…** _

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **ALL ORIGINAL CONTENT OF THIS STORY IS THE SOLE PROPERTY OF BAMBOOZLEPIG AND MAY NOT BE USED WITHOUT PERMISSION.** In order to enhance the overall plot experience, creative liberties may have been intentionally taken with the real-life protocols depicted herein.

**Granite Court and Granite Park area**

**12:35 P.M.**

_**The man on the roof could see a black-and-white Los Angeles police car pull up alongside the red fire engine up the block. Grabbing his binoculars, he spotted the two cops getting out of their vehicle and speaking with the fire captain, easily identifiable by the white stripe on his black helmet. He saw the fire captain gesture to the carnage on the street below, then he saw one of the cops reach into their squad car and grab the radio mike. With interest, he listened in on the scanner, glad that he'd thought to program in the police department's Tac2 frequency, in order to catch the traffic that would not normally be released over the main ops frequency. Tac2 was the frequency they went to when they didn't want the public to know what was going on, especially the news media. He smiled as he heard the officers conversing and discussing over the air what to do about their "active sniper situation" he'd created.** _

_**Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed some movement in the park. The young Marine and his girlfriend, who'd hidden behind the stone wall surrounding the park, were evidently preparing to try and make a dash for safety. He watched as they stood up and moved towards the sidewalk at the front of the park, both of them hunched low. He allowed them to get out to the sidewalk, then he fired on the Marine, catching him in the chest and killing him. He fired on the screaming girlfriend, who dropped to her knees on the ground next to her boyfriend, that shot wounding her in the shoulder. She lay down on the pavement, sobbing, as her beloved died in front of her eyes. The man on the rooftop scanned the park to see if anyone else was foolish enough to try and make a dash for freedom, but they remained where they were at, scared and cowering. The gunman chuckled to himself, no one in the park was safe wherever they were at, he had a good vantage point and intended to use it to his best advantage.** _

_**He heard more sirens wailing in the distance, and he turned to watch up the street, as various police cars swarmed into the area. They were quickly dispatched to different points, ostensibly to seal off the affected area. That was fine by him. The traffic moving on the road and in the area beyond Granite Court was of little interest to him. It was the people in the park he was concerned with. Dividing his attention between those trapped in the park below and the responding emergency vehicles, he watched as his plan continued to unfold on what had started off as an ordinary day…** _

* * *

Palmtree Drive and Adamson Avenue

 

**12:35 P.M.**

"How in the hell did this start?" I ask Captain Stanley. His firefighters, Mike Stoker, Chet Kelly, and Marco Lopez stand clustered around him, their faces pale with shock.

"We got an unknown medical call to Granite Park," he says. "A male subject was reportedly down with what appeared to be a possible heart attack. When Squad 51 arrived on scene, they came under fire immediately. They bailed out the passenger side. We've maintained radio contact with them through the Handie-Talkie."

"Was either of them hit?" asks Reed.

"No, Gage and DeSoto are okay, save for some minor cuts from the windshield glass shattering on them. They've made a few attempts to try and get to some of the wounded that are around them. Every time they make a move, he shoots at them. I've advised them to just sit tight for now," Stanley tells us. "Until we get a better idea of how to proceed."

I reach in and flip the radio over to the public address system. "Attention," I say into the mike, my voice echoing oddly out of the squad car's loudspeaker system. "This is the Los Angeles Police Department. If you're in Granite Park or the immediate vicinity, please remain where you're at and stay low to the ground. Help is on the way. I repeat, please remain where you're at and stay low to the ground. Help is on the way." I flick the radio back over to Tac2. "Let's hope to God those people listen," I tell Reed and Captain Stanley grimly. "And they stay where they're at. It looks like we've already got enough casualties on the ground, we don't need any more."

The handie-talkie in Captain Stanley's hand squawks to life.  _"Cap, he's just fired at two more people, a Marine and a female. From where we're at, it looks like the Marine is dead, but the girl is only wounded. We can't see anymore than that."_

"Copy that, Gage," Captain Stanley tells John Gage. "The police are on the scene now, so just sit tight until we figure out what to do."

 _"Cap, we've been sitting tight ever since this rampage began,"_ Gage tells him, his tone a bit exasperated.  _"We need help out here, or there's gonna be a lot of lives lost to this nutbag. Tell the cops to step on it. We can't hold out much longer. The people in the park are getting restless. We're worried that if they start moving around, he's gonna pick them off."_

"Have they gotten an idea of where he's shooting from?" I ask. "Is he on the roof of the Granite Court building or the parking ramp?"

"Gage, have you been able to determine where he's shooting from?" Stanley says into the HT. "Is he on the roof of the building or in the parking ramp?"

 _"He's on the roof of the building, Cap. We've seen him moving around up there,"_  Gage tells him.

"Are they able to hear the shots being fired?" asks Jim Reed. "Because we're not hearing anything here."

"No," says Hank Stanley. "We're figuring he's using a silencer of some sort on his rifle. We've not been able to hear the shots either, and neither have Gage and DeSoto. The only indication they have that he's firing into the park is when they hear the people scream." He hesitates. "And it's not the best thing to hear," he adds grimly.

"Okay," I say. "The first thing we need to do is get this area sealed off completely. We don't know how far a range he's got on that rifle, but I don't want to take any chances and find out. We'll shut it down a block away in each direction on Adamson." I look at Stanley. "Were you able to determine whether or not the Granite Court building was supposed to have anyone in it today?"

He nods. "Yeah, we got ahold of the general contractor for the building. He said their work on it finished up on Thursday, so no one should be in the building, except for a security guard."

"Let's hope he's right," I say. "Is there any way we could get ahold of a set of blueprints for the building?"

"I can go you one better," Stanley tells me. "I have the contractor on the way out here. He's got the blueprints with him, so you'll be able to go over them with him as far as a plan for getting that guy out of there."

"Right now our primary concern is getting those people out of there," I say. "Are there any buildings or houses in this area that will need to be evacuated?"

"There's some houses over on Shale Court," says Mike Stoker. "Right in back of the Granite Court building. And there's the used car lot here, and the furniture warehouse over there." He gestures to the two businesses on either side of the street from us.

"Okay," I say, gazing at the three firefighters. "I want you guys to go to the two businesses and tell the people we're clearing this area out. Don't tell anyone what we have going on, just tell them that it's a dangerous situation and we need them to leave immediately. Tell them they'll be allowed back in once the situation is back to normal."

"As if that's gonna happen anytime soon," Reed mutters, his eyes on the Granite Court area.

"Give them ten minutes to get the businesses locked up and get out of there," I continue. "If you have any trouble, tell them they'll be arrested for interference. If they persist, come get one of us," I say.

"Right," says Mike Stoker, and the three of them split up, Stoker heading in the direction of the furniture warehouse, and Lopez and Kelly heading to the used car lot.

"What about the people over on Shale Court?" Stanley asks. "Could you get on the PA and order them to evacuate?"

I shake my head. "No, we don't want to give him any more ideas for target practice. If we get on the PA, we'll alert him that he's got some viable targets on that street, and he may shift his attention there. We want to keep this as quiet as possible for now. We don't want a panic and we don't want more victims. "

"Where's your sheriff's deputies at?" Reed asks. "Shouldn't they be the ones handling this as the primary jurisdictional officers?"

Stanley shakes his head. "They're tied up on a hostage situation out at Pelican Beach. They've got most of their units there, along with their SWAT team." He gestures to us. "So you guys are it," he says. "Until the shift change kicks some of them loose."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Great," I mutter, my mind whirling as I try to formulate a plan. I've dealt with sniper situations before, but nothing like this. I look up as a squad car approaches, lights and siren blaring. It's Adam-14, Jerry Woods and Mike Robinson. I go over to them. "Get the intersection of Adamson and and Chicory Drive shut down completely," I tell Woods. "No one gets through at all. If they try, arrest them. Stay on Tac2 and listen in case we need to widen the perimeter. We don't know how far a range he's got on that rifle yet."

"Right, Pete," says Jerry, and they speed off.

Adam-11, Bob Brinkman and Dave Russo pull up next. I go over to them. "Get the intersection of Adamson and Oaktree Drive shut down completely. No one gets through at all. If they try, arrest them. Stay on Tac2 and listen, in case we need to widen the perimeter. We don't know his range yet," I tell Brinkman.

"Gotcha, Pete," says Brinkman, and they roar off.

Adam-43 comes screeching around the corner of Adamson and Palmtree. Ed Wells and Jack Brady wait as I approach. "Get Palmtree and Morris Avenue shut down completely. We're gonna funnel the ambulances in that way. They'll need a clear road to enter on. No one gets through unless it's an emergency vehicle. If they try, arrest them. Stay on Tac2 and listen for any further information."

"Right, Pete," Ed says, screeching off in a small cloud of dust.

Adam-49, Juan Sanchez and Gary Miller pull up next. I go over to them. "Get Oaktree and Morris shut down completely," I say. "We're gonna funnel the ambulances out that way. They'll need a clear road to exit on. No one gets through. If they try, arrest them. Stay on Tac2 and listen for any further information."

"Got it, Pete," says Sanchez, and they speed off.

A small, barrel-chested man comes running across the street to us. "Excuse me, excuse me!" he hollers, waving at us. The two firefighters, Chet Kelly and Marco Lopez, hurry after him, dismay written on their faces.

I turn to him. "Yes, what is it, sir?" I ask.

"What in the world do you people think you're doing here?" he asks, panting from his exertion of running. He's clad in a pair of khaki pants and a loud green plaid sportscoat. A white shirt and loud green tie complete the ensemble. He gestures to the AutoZip Used Car Lot on the corner. "I own that car lot," he says. "And this little man," he gestures derisively to Kelly, "and his partner here, came into my office and informed me I needed to leave this area immediately! Now I demand to know what's going on here!"

"Sir, we have a dangerous situation on our hands right now," I tell him coolly. "We're asking everyone in the vicinity to clear out until the situation is returned to normal."

"Well," he snaps. "How long will that be? I can't just shut down my business simply because you people have some sort of situation on your hands! That's not my problem, but losing sales is!"

"We have no idea how long it will be," Reed tells him. "But you do need to lock your business up, and you and your employees need to leave the premises." He shoots the man an icy blue glare. "Now," he adds.

"But this is ridiculous!" he says. "You're interrupting my livelihood here! Now I am a close and personal friend of Mayor Tom Bradley, and I can call him right now and have him fire all of you for this…this…foolishness!"

"You'll have to call him from your jail cell, then," I tell him, my patience gone with this little irritating man. "Because that's where you're headed if you don't get out of here immediately."

At the word "jail," he blanches. "You'd take me to jail?" he asks.

"For interference in a police matter, yes, I would," I tell him. "Now the choice is yours, pal. Either you lock up and get out, or you go to jail. It's as simple as that."

He studies me to see if I'm serious. When he realizes I am, he looks deflated. "I'll clear out," he says in a whipped tone of voice. "I'll get my two employees and we'll leave."

"Good choice," I tell him. "You have ten minutes to go."

A tall, thin man in a grey suit approaches us, trailed by Mike Stoker. "Um…" he says hesitantly, nervously twisting his hands and shifting his glance between Captain Stanley and I. "This firefighter told me I needed to gather my employees and leave the area immediately. So I take it we're being ordered to evacuate?" he asks.

"Yes sir, you are," I tell him. "You have ten minutes to get you and your employees out of the building. We have a very dangerous situation on our hands right now, and we're ordering evacuations of all surrounding areas."

"I don't understand why you can't tell us what's going on," the used car salesman pipes up.

I turn to him. "It's an official police matter, sir," I tell him. "One that I am not at liberty to discuss right now. So please, for safety's sake, I'm ordering you to gather your employees and leave the area."

"When will we be allowed back in?" the man in the grey suit asks. "I have a shipment of office furniture that is due into the warehouse at 3 p.m. I really need to be here to oversee the unloading of it."

"And what about my business?" the car salesman asks. "Shutting down for an extended length of time will hurt my sales."

"You'll be allowed back in as soon as the situation is back to normal," I tell them, feeling like I'm explaining it to two complete idiots, which, in reality, I am. "For now, I can't tell you how long that will be."

"What about my cars on the lot?" the salesman asks. "Is there any danger of them being damaged by whatever is going on here? Maybe I'd better start moving them out of the area."

"And what about my incoming shipment of furniture?" the man in the grey suit asks.

"You'd better worry more about the lives of your employees and yourselves right now," Captain Stanley says. "Rather than your vehicles on the lot and your furniture shipment. Things like that can be replaced. Human lives can't."

The HT in Stanley's hand crackles to life.  _"Cap,"_  John Gage says.  _"Any idea on how long it's gonna take to start getting these people out of here and to safety? With the way he's shooting, Roy and I figure there's a lot of casualties in the park itself. We need to get the wounded ones out of there as soon as possible. Otherwise they might bleed to death."_

The used car saleman's eyes widen. "You guys have a SNIPER situation going on here?" he asks, his face turning pale. "Is that it? Some nutbag is shooting people over in Granite Park?"

"Sir, I told you, we cannot discuss it right now," I say, my voice edged with exasperation. I look at my watch. "You both have ten minutes to get your employees together, lock your businesses up, and leave. I assure you, you'll be allowed back in as soon as the situation clears. Now please, do as I ask of you. Don't make me arrest either of you and take you to jail." I jerk a thumb at the alleyway that runs along behind both businesses. "Have your employees exit out the back of the buildings. When they get in their cars, they need to go down this alleyway that runs east and west. They'll be allowed to exit on Oaktree and Chicory, to Morris Avenue only. Stress that they need to follow that route. Do I make myself clear?" I ask the two men.

"Hell, yes!" the car salesman says. "I don't wanna get shot by no damned sniper!" He turns on his heel and makes fast tracks across his car lot. The man in the grey suit does the same, scurrying off to his furniture warehouse.

"Guess sniper was the magic word," Jim Reed remarks dryly.

"Some people," I mutter. A black-and-white sheriff's car pulls up, with Deputy Vince Howard in it. I go over to him. "Vince, I need you to get over to Shale Court and go door to door, and start evacuating those people in the houses there. Don't alarm them or tell them what we've got, just explain that we have a dangerous situation on our hands and we're ordering mandatory evacuations of the area. They'll be allowed back in as soon as the situation returns to normal. Tell them they have ten minutes to get out. Route 'em up Oaktree, the cops at the roadblock there will let them through. If they give you any problems, tell them they'll be arrested for interference. Got it? When you get done doing that, and you're sure everyone's evacuated, return back here. We'll likely reassign you."

Vince nods. "Got it, Pete." His car speeds off.

I get on the radio. "One-Adam-11, 14, and 49, be advised you should have a small contingent of personal vehicles exiting your way within the next ten to twenty minutes. Go ahead and let them through. They're civilians we've cleared out of these nearby businesses and houses."

Captain Stanley speaks. "Pete, you might want to have your units on Morris be watching for the general contractor to arrive. He's driving a white Ford pickup with the name 'Brick's Construction' on the side of it. His name's Mike Hanson. He'll need to get past the roadblock."

"Adam-43 and 49, be watching for a white Ford pickup truck with the name 'Brick's Construction' written on the side of it," I say into the mike. "It's the general contractor for the Granite Court building. His name's Mike Hanson. ID him quickly and then let him through. He's got the blueprints for the Granite Court building." When both units acknowledge, I turn back to Captain Stanley. "Get on your radio and find out if we've got any available deputies now to assist us," I tell him.

"Right," he says. "With any luck, maybe the hostage situation has been resolved, and they've kicked some of them loose." He returns to the truck.

"Is there any more that we can do, Pete?" asks Mike Stoker.

"Not right now," I say, gazing at the empty lot behind the Office Furniture Warehouse. "I think we're gonna use that lot to set up a triage area. Do you know if any medevac choppers are available?"

"There's Schaefer's," Stoker says. "They have two or three choppers that might be available."

"What about the Coast Guard choppers that fly on sea rescues?" Marco Lopez asks. "They might be able to take some flights."

"Okay," I say. "We'll keep that idea in in the forefront, until Mac decides what to do," I say. I look up as Sergeant MacDonald's station wagon pulls to a screeching halt in behind Adam-12.

Mac gets out, going around to the rear of the wagon. He unlatches the gate and flips it down, pulling the map box out. "Fill me in on what's happening, Pete," he says.

"The sniper's up on top of that four-story office building, the Granite Court building," I tell him. "He's got the medics from Squad 51 pinned down by their rig."

"Were they hit?" he asks, studying the map.

"Just some minor cuts from the windshield shattering on them," I say.

"How are we set up for road blocks?" he asks.

"I've got Adam-11 at Adamson and Oaktree blocking traffic, Adam-14 at Adamson and Chicory blocking traffic, and Adam-43 blocking traffic at Morris and Palmtree. I also placed Adam-49 at Oaktree and Morris for traffic. I figured we'd funnel the ambulances in down Palmtree from Morris and shoot them out through this alleyway to Oaktree and Morris." I take a deep breath and continue. "I've ordered mandatory evacuations of these two businesses, and the houses along Shale Court in back of the Granite Court building. I've got Deputy Howard doing the house-to-house evacuations." I gesture to the vacant lot in behind the Office Furniture Warehouse. "I thought we'd use this as the trauma/triage area once we start getting victims out of there. They can be quickly assessed and loaded up for transport. You might want to consider getting ahold of either city or county public works and having them come out here with barricades to block the roads off with, just to establish a firmer roadblock and perimeter." I tap my hand against the roof of Mac's car. "For now, we're all that's handling this incident. County's tied up on a hostage situation of their own. Captain Stanley's looking into if any deputies can be shaken free, but we're not optimistic on that. He's asked the general contractor to be en route out here with the blueprints of the building, and I've ordered those at the roadblock to let him through. According to the contractor, no one should be in that building except a security guard. And I'll give you one guess as to what's likely happened to that poor guy."

Mac has taken all that I've rattled off to him in stride. "Looks like you've thought this out, Pete," he says. "Good job."

"Tell me that when we get those victims out of there safely," I tell him.

Captain Stanley returns to us. He has a rather grim look on his face. "The county situation is still ongoing, and it looks to be that way for awhile. So it appears you guys are going to be the primary incident commanders on this deal."

"We don't know how many injuries or fatalities we have yet?" Mac asks Stanley.

He shakes his head. "No, Gage and DeSoto report seeing numerous dead and wounded from where they're at, but there's no telling how many are out of their sight range. Any time they make a move, he shoots at them."

 _"Cap,"_ comes the disembodied voice of John Gage over the HT.  _"It's getting critical here. He's taken some more shots at people in the park it looks like. We can't tell if anyone's been hit, but we've heard a lot of screaming coming from there just a moment ago. From what we can see, the girl next to the Marine's body is bleeding rather badly. We need to start getting these people out of here and fast."_

"Roger that, Gage, just sit tight. We're putting a plan together as fast as we can," Stanley tells him.

 _"Yeah, well, it looks like his plan is far more thought out than yours is right now,"_ Gage tells him.  _"I think he's wanting as high a death toll as possible. It's almost like he's hunting humans. So I'd advise you guys to act fast. I think he'll run out of lives to take before he runs out of bullets."_

"Are they able to hear the shots being fired?" Mac asks.

Stanley shakes his head. "No, the only indication they have that he's shooting is when they hear the people in the park start screaming. He's evidently got some sort of silencer on the weapon. We've been able to maintain contact with Gage and DeSoto through their Handie-Talkie," he says. "They've been trying to keep us advised as far as what they can see from where they're pinned in at."

"Damn it," Mac says disgustedly. "This map doesn't have the Granite Park and Granite Court area on it. We haven't gotten the updated maps of the new jurisdictional boundaries for this vicinity yet."

"I can draw you a map out quick," says Mike Stoker. "We've just been through this area in the past week checking the new hydrant systems. It won't take me long to give you the layout of the park and the surrounding area."

Mac nods. "Great. Do that if you would, please." He sighs. "The next step is to formulate a plan to get in and start getting those people out of there." He looks at all of us. "I'm open to suggestions."

"What about having the Coast Guard choppers come in?" asks Marco Lopez. "They could use their stokes to airlift the people out."

Mac shakes his head. "Too dangerous and too long," he says. "Those stokes can only carry one victim at a time. We're putting the chopper pilots and the crew aboard in danger of him firing on them, bringing the chopper down. And when they'd winch the victims aboard, we're exposing them to his fire. It's a great idea in theory, but it won't work."

Mike Stoker returns with the map he's hastily drawn up. He has the area as finely detailed as he possibly can on a piece of scratch paper. He points to the park. "There's only two ways into Granite Park, as you can see," he says. "The main entrance and the small maintenance entrance at the back. Both entrances are paved, but the rear entrance is pretty small. It's mainly for the groundskeeping trucks to use."

"Could we get a vehicle the size of an ambulance in there?" Mac asks.

Captain Stanley shakes his head. "I doubt it. Even a station wagon rig would be hard to fit in there. There's not much room for turnaround. You'd nearly have to come in the back entrance and exit out the front, putting the rig directly into his line of fire. And the last I knew, ambulances weren't bulletproof."

"And we can't go in on foot," Reed says. "Because while the SWAT team has the vests to protect from getting shot, the victims don't. Dragging them out that way exposes them to sniper fire once more."

"Sonofabitch," Mac mutters. "This bastard has certainly covered his bases well, hasn't he?" He looks down towards Granite Court. "No way in, and the only way out is in a body bag, it seems."

"I'm not letting that happen to Gage and DeSoto," Captain Stanley says, his voice sharp. "If nothing else, we'll drive the damned fire engine into that area, just to get them out."

"That's putting your crew at risk for getting hit," Mac tells him. "I won't let you do that."

"It's gotta be better than sitting around here doing nothing," Stanley snaps. "Those are two of the best damned paramedics for Los Angeles County, and I'm not letting them get killed if I can help it." Stanley points down the street. "As cops, you guys should know how to handle a situation like this. And it seems to me you're not doing a very good job of it right now. Either you come up with something to get those people and my medics out of there, or I'll drive that engine in myself to get them out."

"It's too dangerous!" Mac snaps. "And we've never handled a sniper situation like this before. Just give me a chance to think a minute, okay?"

"Then you'd better think fast, Sergeant," Stanley tells him, anger rising in his voice. "Not only are those two men trapped in there are our brothers…our family. And NONE of us are going to just sit by and let them get murdered. Got that?" He and Mac exchange a tension-filled glare, the battle lines clearly drawn. Stanley's three firefighters nod in assent, their faces grim.

"It'd be just like if one of your men was stuck in the same situation," Mike Stoker says. "You'd want to get them out as fast as possible, without getting them injured or killed. And until you've been in that situation, Sergeant…"

"I HAVE been in that situation," Mac says. "Numerous times. And I know exactly what you're all feeling right now. But we can't just bust in there and start yanking people out. We've got to come up with a damned good plan."

"The Armadillo," I say. "What about using the Armadillo?"

Mac looks over at me. "Pete, that thing hasn't been proven yet," he says. "We don't know if it'll actually work. We're taking a big chance on it failing under fire."

"We're taking a chance on letting more innocent people die at the hands of that jackass," I tell him. "Which chance is greater? The loss of a human life or the possible failure of a damned Armadillo? I sure as hell know which one I'd rather take right now. I agree with Captain Stanley. We can't wait. We need to act immediately."

"It tested well at Camp Pendleton, Mac," Reed says. "We put it through the paces out there, and it worked just fine. We threw all sorts of situations at it and it came out smelling like a rose each time."

"If it fails miserably, though, it's gonna look incredibly bad for the department," Mac says. "The bad press alone could sink any future projects the SWAT division might put out for consideration."

"It's gonna look even worse if the public finds out we had something designed specifically for use in a crisis situation like this, and we failed to implement it when it was needed," I tell him sharply. "Right now I'd helluva lot rather risk department's reputation than the lives of the people trapped in the park."

"We put it through a similar drill at Pendleton," Reed says. "It proved itself then, so give it a chance now, Mac. What have you got to lose?"

"We have the ability to get in there and get those people out," I say. "It's risky, yes, but so is every other option we've come up with. Those people are running out of precious time in there, Mac. And I don't understand why you won't let us act on it."

"Because this is my ass on the line," Mac protests vehemently. "If I order the Armadillo to roll, and it goes terribly wrong, I could be demoted…or worse yet, fired. And I've got too damned many years in on the job to have that happen to me now. Mary and I are counting on my retirement pension in our old age."

I stare at him, feeling anger and dismay rising in me. I flick a glance to Reed, then to the four firefighters clustered around us. I study the carnage in the street before me. I close my eyes for a moment, then I open them, setting my mouth in a grim line. I come to a decision. "I'll order it," I say. "I'll order the Armadillo to roll, if you're too damned worried about protecting your own ass do it yourself, Mac." I meet his blue gaze angrily with my own. "I'll risk getting fired. I'd rather act now and try to get those people out of the park as quickly as possible. I'll worry about the consequences later on."

Mac studies me for a moment, his eyes snapping fire and a muscle twitching in his jaw, then he shoves past me to the side of his car. He reaches in for the mike. He holds it in his hand for a second, then he presses down on the button. "Dispatch from One-L-20," he says into the mike.

_"This is Dispatch, One-L-20, go ahead with your traffic."_

"Dispatch, has Sergeant Baron been notified of this situation?"

_"Roger, One-L-20, Sergeant Baron has been notified and is on his way into the station. He's standing by on Tac2 if you need to relay information to him."_

"Copy that, Dispatch. Sergeant Baron, do you copy One-L-20 on Tac2?"

_"Roger, Mac. I copy you. Go ahead."_

"Gus, we've got a sniper situation out here in the Granite Court area. We're assuming primary incident command due to county being tied up on a situation of their own. From what we've been advised, we have numerous injuries and possible fatalities in and around the Granite Park area. We've got a county paramedic team pinned in by gunfire. Against my better judgement, I'm requesting you go ahead and roll the Armadillo to this location for rescue purposes." Mac's gaze never leaves mine.

_"Mac, the Armadillo hasn't been completely proven for use in a situation like this. All we have under our belts is the mock-simulations we used at Camp Pendleton last month. It performed well then, but who's to say it will do well now, in an actual situation?"_

I reach out and snatch the mike from Mac's hand. I key the button. "Gus, this is Pete Malloy. We've got a critical incident out here. We've got a lot of innocent people that are trapped in Granite Park by sniper fire. Several are injured and are in need of immediate medical attention. We don't have time on our side here, Gus. We need to get in and get those people out as fast as we can," I tell him. "I'm asking you to roll the Armadillo. If it fails, it fails. At least we made a damned honest attempt at saving those people. I'd rather have that over my head than the idea that we let innocent people die at the hands of a madman, simply because we're afraid our little Armadillo might not work. It tested well at Pendleton, I doubt it's gonna fail now. All we can do is try and give it a chance. Which is a helluva lot more than what those folks on the ground in the park have right now."

There is a hestitation on the other end of the radio as Gus Baron mulls it over.  _"Fine, Malloy,"_  Gus finally says.  _"As soon as I get to the station, I'll throw your SWAT gear into the back end of the Armadillo and be en route."_

"Jim Reed's here with me also," I tell him. "Toss his gear in the Armadillo, too. We'll suit up as soon as you arrive on scene. Then we'll begin rescue operations." I shove the mike back at a glaring Mac, clicking the button off. "There," I snap. "Now you don't hafta worry about your ass being on the line. It's mine that will be fired if it comes to that." I then push past the small group of men and stalk around to the front of Adam-12. Leaning on the front bumper, I fold my arms across my chest, staring up the street at the gruesome sight.

Reed approaches me. "You shouldn't have done that, Pete," he tells me softly. "You took it upon yourself to issue an order that should have been Mac's perogative, not yours. You're liable to get busted down or fired."

I look over at him. "Would you have done it any differently?" I ask.

He is quiet for a moment. He shakes his head. "No," he says. "I wouldn't." He looks up the street. "Why did you automatically assume I'd go out on a SWAT mission like this?" he asks.

I take my hat off, rubbing my forehead. "I'm sorry," I say. "I guess I just figured you'd go along with me. But if you don't, I can understand. I'll go it alone and do what I can." I set my hat on the hood of the car.

"No," he says. "I'll do it. But it's…" he hesitates, biting his lip. "It's nearly suicide, you know?"

"You don't think I don't realize that?" I ask, casting him a glance. "I know it's nearly suicide. We don't know what other possible kinds of firepower he's got up on that damned roof. Hell, for all we know, he could have a freakin' Sherman tank and hand grenades up there, and he's just waiting for the opportunity to use them on us. But it's a risk I'm willing to take, if it saves innocent lives. If you want to stay here and help Mac with the command post, I can understand. You've got a wife and kid to worry about. I don't."

"I said I'd go," he says. "I'm not letting you walk into a situation like that alone, Pete. I'm just worried about what we might be facing once we get past that perimeter into his territory. Back here, we're on our ground." He points to the street in front of us. "Out there, we're on his turf. And it's a suicide mission we're undertaking, you know? Neither of us may come out of this alive."

I stare ahead, my mouth set in a thin line. "I know it," I tell him grimly. "But there's no other choice. Either we go in and get those people out, or we let him pick them off like they're ducks in his private shooting gallery. And I'm not about to let that happen if I can help it."

"I know," he sighs. "Me neither." He leans against the bumper of the squad car, too. "Time isn't exactly on our sides here." He takes his hat off, too, running a hand through his hair. He sets his watchcap on the hood next to mine.

"Yeah," I say, glancing down at my watch. It's nearly one o'clock, not quite an hour into the gunman's shooting rampage. I look at Reed, his gaze meeting mine. "And it's rapidly running out for the people in the park."

* * *

"Mac, this is Gus. How are we set up for SWAT team members on site right now besides Reed and Malloy? Are there any others?"

 

_"It's just those two for now. I've got my other units deployed blocking traffic and keeping the lookie-loos out. So I'm leaving it to your discretion as far as activating any other members."_

_"Uh… think I'll hold off on any further activations for now. We don't want to get too many members out there and end up having them just standing around with nothing to do. Not too many can fit aboard the Armadillo, so we'll work with who we've got. I'll go ahead and throw some extra gear in the back end just in case we end up having to outfit team members later on, as possible relief officers, but for now I'll just wait until I see what we're dealing with on scene. Now how about county? Is their SWAT team available?"_

_"Not at this time, Gus. According to the county fire captain we've got on scene, he tells us they're tied up on a hostage situation of their own, and it doesn't look to be ending any time soon. So it's just us."_

_"Uh…okay, I'm going to be leaving the station with the Armadillo shortly here, once I get the gear loaded. Advise me of where the command post is set up."_

_"We're on the corner of Adamson Avenue and Palmtree Drive."_

_"Roger that, Mac, I'll have about a fifteen to twenty minute ETA to your location. Just sit tight."_

_"Copy, Gus. We'll be standing by. Dispatch on Tac2, do you copy?"_

_"Dispatch copies, One-L-20, go ahead with your traffic."_

_"Dispatch, I need you to go ahead and issue an immediate alert to the local television and radio stations, warning the public to stay out of the areas between Oaktree Drive and Chicory Drive, including the Adamson Avenue, Morris Avenue, and Granite Court vicinities. Do NOT tell them that it's an active sniper situation we have on our hands, just advise them that it's an emergency police matter for now, and we don't want the public in those areas. Then, get ahold of Rampart Emergency and Central Receiving hospitals and have them activate their mass trauma teams. Have them en route out here. We'll be setting up a triage area once rescue operations get underway. Place all the other area hospitals on secondary trauma standby for now, until we're able to better ascertain how many victims we'll be bringing out. See if any medevac choppers are available to fly on a go mission. Go ahead and activate the Emergency Command Center in dispatch. Notify the Captain of what we have out here and advise him of what we're doing. It'll be up to him to notify the Chief of Police and the mayor. Call in off-duty dispatchers if need be, under my authority. Have them handle the phone lines and any other calls. I want you to remain on Tac2 as my primary dispatcher. Also call in any off-duty officers that are available to cover the city until we get this situation resolved. You might also want to see if Highway Patrol could spare us a few officers to help out here, either with covering the city or handling traffic control out here at the scene. At this time, the city is assuming complete jurisdictional control over this incident and it will be handled by us from here on out. And whatever you do, do not let the media know what we've got out here. I'll decide when to release that information. Did you copy all that?"_

_"Roger, One-L-20. Dispatch copies. I'm working on it now."_

_"Roger, dispatch. Stand by for any further instructions for now."_

_"Dispatch copies. Standing by."_

* * *

**Granite Court and Granite Park area**

**1:00 P.M.**

_**Up on the rooftop of the Granite Court building, the gunman looked at his watch. It wasn't even quite an hour into his spree, and already he'd exacted a frighteningly large toll on the people in the park below. He'd chuckled to himself as he'd heard the earlier announcement over the PA of the police car advising the people in the park to remain where they were at, that help was on the way. The cop's voice on the PA sounded cool and collected as he gave the announcement. He'd expected the guy to sound scared or nervous. After all, not many on the Los Angeles Police Department had ever dealt with a sniper situation as far as he knew. He wondered idly how the guy could remain so cool in the face of so much chaos in front of him. Curious to see what the officer looked like, he picked up the high-powered binoculars and zoomed in on the two cops standing by their car, talking with the fire captain. One of the cops was a tall thin man, while the other one was a bit on the pudgy side, just a hairsbreadth shorter than the skinny cop. The brims of their watchcaps hid most of their faces from his view. He noticed both cops had shooting medals on their uniforms; the pudgier officer had the double-barred and circular medallion signifying him as a Distinguished Expert in the sharpshooting field, the highest ranking attainable in the department. The other cop had a single-barred silver medallion, signifying him as only a sharpshooter. He decided that the heavier cop must be the one in charge for now, since he had the chevrons and star emblem on his uniform marking him as the Senior Lead Officer in his division, a Police Officer III, one step below sergeant ranking. The sniper on the building smiled to himself as he thought of how he came about that vast knowledge of the police department. Everyone would certainly be surprised at how he knew it all, that's for sure.** _

_**He focused back in on the park. He noticed a teenage girl creeping towards the stone wall on the perimeter of the park. Looking around, she quickly stood up and jumped at the wall, trying to grab onto the edge of it to boost herself over to safety. He watched her as she caught the edge of the wall in her hands, struggling to climb over it. Then he sighted the rifle in on her and shot her in the back, dropping her to the grass, where she lay twitching and convulsing violently. He noticed one of the toddlers that belonged to one of the cowering mothers wriggled free from her grasp, and started to run across the emerald grass, unaware of the danger he was in. The gunman casually pulled the trigger, the little boy's head exploding in a mist of red and grey gore. He heard the mother shrieking in agony, so he pulled the trigger on her, too, sending her with little dispatch to follow the soul of her son. Everyone else in the park and in the street remained cowed. Even the medics at the side of their truck hadn't made a move in awhile. He sighted down at the pretty brunette that lay next to her fallen Marine, blood staining her pink flowered dress. With a sigh, he turned one of the blossoms on her dress red with more blood, shooting her straight through the heart. What the hell, he was a romantic at heart. There was nothing like undying love until the end. A Romeo and Juliet tragedy for the modern age, he mused.** _

_**He caught sight of some more activity up the street. Using the binoculars, he focused in once more. He watched as a man in a loud plaid suit argued with the two cops, evidently reluctant to evacuate. He thought ruefully to himself how awful it was he'd shortened the range on his rifle when he modified it. Otherwise he'd have pulled the trigger on the man and put an end to the argument right then and there. He watched as the man, soon joined by another man in a grey suit stood around speaking with the two cops and the four firefighters. The two men then dispersed, evidently going to their places of businesses in order to lock up and get out. He spotted a black-and-white sheriff's car pull up next to the squad car and stop for a moment, then the sheriff's car took off. He moved across the roof to see where it went. It pulled onto the street behind the Granite Court building, in the new housing development on Shale Court. He surmised the deputy was going to be going door to door to evacuate the residents living there. He shrugged. He knew he could lug the rifle and tripod over to the other side of the roof and pick off the people on Shale Court as they fled, but he didn't want to. It was simply too much hassle, and besides, he had a primo spot where he was at now on the roof. He didn't want to lose his current line of fire by moving the rifle. He figured he had more various types of victims to choose from in the park rather than those in the houses. In the vast green stretch of Granite Park and the street below, he had mothers and children, teenagers, young adults, elderly folk, and a few businessmen. Everyday, ordinary people, who would ultimately die on this ordinary day.** _

_**He returned to his spot by the rifle. He spotted the group of preschoolers and their two remaining teachers crawling on their bellies towards the scant safety of the picnic pavilion. He fired a couple of shots over their heads to keep them down, and then he glanced up the street towards the cops and firemen once more. He noted that the two cops were now joined by a third officer, driving a black-and-white station wagon. Putting the binoculars to his eyes, he zoomed in on the new man. A sergeant, he noticed, watching as the man trotted around to the back of the wagon and dropped the rear gate, pulling a sturdy map box out. He watched as the sergeant engaged in a lengthy conversation with the small group of firefighters and the other two cops, then the sergeant shoved past them and went over to the side of his car, reaching in for the radio mike. He grabbed up the scanner, listening to the Tac2 traffic. He heard the request for an Armadillo to be brought out to the scene. He frowned. What exactly in the hell was an Armadillo? he wondered to himself. He didn't think too long on it, though, as he saw the senior lead man snatch the radio mike out of the sergeant's hand and get on the air himself. He heard the conversation between the lead man and the SWAT team commander that was en route with this so-called Armadillo, then the lead man shoved the mike back at the sergeant and stalked off to sit on the front bumper of his own squad car. The officer's partner soon joined him, the two of them leaning on the car. It didn't look like all was happy amongst the cops and the firefighters. He divided his attention between the ongoing Tac2 traffic and the two men sitting on the bumper of…he squinted at the roof of the squad…what car number was it again?...damn it, he couldn't see, the sun was glinting off the roof of the car, blinding him.** _

_**His attention was drawn back to the people in the park. The groundskeeper was kneeling down behind one of the wooden walls of the picnic pavilion, trying to coax the preschoolers and their teachers to crawl to him once more. He watched them for awhile through the binoculars, happy at the thoroughly frightened expressions on the faces of the kids. He spotted one of the teenage boys that was huddled by the granite fountain stand up and try to make a run for it. The other parkgoers watched his progress with great interest, hoping that if the fleet-footed youngster got away without getting shot, maybe their chances of escape were good too. The gunman let him get nearly to the park entrance, then he fired a shot into the kid's leg. When the kid dropped to the grass, holding his wounded knee, the gunman put another bullet into him, this one in his shoulder. The kid fell backwards, but he was still alive…for now. The gunman looked once more at the activity up the street. He sighed heavily. Waiting was such a bore.** _

* * *

Command Post, Adamson Avenue and Palmtree Drive

 

**1:10 P.M.**

Over my shoulder, I hear Mac talking to the firefighters. "How many rescue squads from your department do you think you can call out here?" he asks Captain Stanley.

"I can request at least two for now," Stanley replies. "We don't want to spread our county resources too thin, you know."

"I know it," Mac tells him. "And I can't spread my city resources too thin, either. If we're willing to send our men in to deal with the rescue end of it, you guys should be willing to supply the medic teams to help staff the triage area."

I hear Stanley hesitate at the brusqueness of Mac's tone. "Right," I hear him say, his own tone sharp. "I'll get on the radio and request two medic teams out here, and have another put on standby. If your SWAT team gets my paramedic team out of the war zone on one of their first passes in, we can put them to work in the triage area, too."

"Good," Mac says. "Just so we understand each other, Captain. If this is our jurisdictional baby by default, then it's our rules we're playing by. Just for the sake of safety and continuity."

"I understand perfectly clear, Sergeant MacDonald," Stanley tells him in a clipped voice. I see him go over to the fire truck and climb in, grabbing the radio. I can't make out his conversation that well, he pulls the door partially shut. I shoot a glance at the other firefighters and Mac.

"We'll use this vacant lot for the triage area, like Malloy suggested," I hear Mac say. "I'll need the locks cut on those gates so we can get the lot opened up. I need you guys to do that," he says to one of the firemen.

"Right, Sergeant," Chet Kelly says, then he opens one of the compartments on the side of the rig, pulling out a set of bolt cutters. He and Marco Lopez go over to the chain-link fence and begin working on the padlocks and chains. Mike Stoker remains with the engine, his expression one of displeasure. He watches his captain carefully, as Captain Stanley climbs back out of the truck.

"I've got Rescue Squads 88 and 36 on the way out here," he tells Mac. "I've also put in a request to see if the Coast Guard choppers would be available to fly once we start getting victims out of there. I'm awaiting word from our dispatch center now on that possibility. And Schaefer's is on standby at your dispatcher's request."

"There's no way you can have your radio communications center switch over to our Tac2 frequency so we can share information, is there?" Mac asks him.

"No, I'm afraid not," Stanley says. "The county deputies might be able to switch over to your Tac2, but our fire dispatch can't. I'll have to relay any information they might need."

"Would it be possible for the Armadillo to get in through that back entrance to the park?" Mac asks. "So we could maybe load victims that way?"

Stoker shakes his head. "It's just barely big enough for the little groundskeeping trucks to get in there."

" _Cap,"_  John Gage's voice crackles over the HT Stanley holds in his hand.  _"He just shot at a kid who tried to make a break for it through the entrance. It doesn't look like he killed him, just wounded him, but we think it's pretty serious injuries the kid sustained. I hope to God help is rolling in some form or another."_

"We've got the police department's Armadillo on the way," Stanley tells him. "It's got the SWAT team gear aboard, so when it arrives, Malloy and Reed will suit up and we'll start rescue operations as soon as possible."

" _Did you say Pete Malloy and Jim Reed were there on scene?"_ asks Gage.

"Yeah, they are," Stanley tells him.

" _Well, good to hear, then,"_ Gage chuckles.  _"Maybe there's hope for us yet, if the dynamic duo is on their way to save our asses."_

Reed and I exchange a small grim smile. We've been friends with John Gage and Roy DeSoto, and the rest of the Station 51 crew for awhile now.

"Tell Gage and DeSoto they'll be the first ones we pull out of there," Mac says to Stanley. "We'll need them for the triage area."

"Sergeant MacDonald wants me to relay that you and Roy will be the first ones we get out," Stanley tells him. "We'll put you to work in the triage area, assisting with the wounded."

" _Uh…yeah, I think I have a slightly better idea,"_ Gage says.  _"How about Roy and I put on bulletproof vests and accompany Malloy and Reed into the battlefield? We could get a lot more accomplished that way. It'll go a helluva lot quicker and we might save more lives."_

Mac shakes his head. "No can do. We can't risk them getting hit by sniper fire in the field. It's too damned dangerous. I won't allow it."

"It's a fine idea, pal," Stanley says into the HT. "But Sergeant MacDonald won't allow it and neither will I. Too risky. You guys might get hit by sniper fire. We're not taking that chance."

" _Yeah, well, we'll discuss it once we get rescued,"_ Gage says in a tone that indicates his mind is already made up.  _"In the meantime, tell Pete and Jim to just take their time rescuing us. Roy and I are sitting here enjoying the sunshine and working on our tans. The only bad thing is, I think my ass has fallen asleep."_ His voice is laced with sarcasm.

"Smartass," Stanely says into the HT, a bit of affection in his voice. "We're working on getting you two out as soon as possible."

" _Oh, and Cap?"_  Johnny asks.  _"Tell Pete and Jim to try and not get shot while rescuing us. I don't think that would look very good for the police department's SWAT team and their credibility in the least."_

"I'll make sure to tell them to duck when they get there," Stanley chuckles. "For credibility purposes."

Mac comes over to me, standing in front of me. "You," he says in a low tone, his face stormy with anger. "You and I are going to have a little discussion… _in private_ …about you grabbing the mike out of my hands just now. Do you understand me, Malloy?"

"Perfectly," I say. "I look forward to it, Sergeant." My voice is cool.

"Jesus," Mac says, taking off his cap and swiping at the sweat on his brow. "What a mess." Giving me one last glower, he stomps off to his car.

"I think you're in trouble, Pete," Reed tells me quietly.

"Ask me if I care right now," I reply. "Being in trouble with Mac is the least of my concerns right now." I look up as I hear the thup-thup-thup of Air Ten approaching our area. "Good," I say, watching the chopper fly low over us. "Now maybe we'll have a bit better idea of what we're facing. Air Ten should be able to see from their vantage point what kind of setup he's got, and how many victims we have in the park."

"Maybe," says Reed. "If he doesn't decide to shoot at the chopper."

* * *

Roof of the Granite Court building

 

**1:20 P.M.**

_**The gunman heard the sound of an approaching helicopter. Scanning the sky, he spotted it coming in from the south, flying low. He watched it angle east, skimming the treetops on the eastern edge of the park gracefully. The chopper then angled slightly north again, and it swung towards his spot on the roof, the roar of the helicopter's blades filling his ears. He tried to sight in on it in order to fire, but he couldn't. Dust kicked up around him, temporarily blinding him. And by the time he wiped the dust from his eyes, the bird had already swung to the west of him, well out of his range. "Damn it," he muttered to himself as he watched the copter set up a holding pattern, circling around the park and the Granite Court building. "Damn it all to hell." To soothe his anger, he sighted in on the dead Marine below and fired another shot into the young man's body. It jerked with the bullet's impact. He heard the tiny transistor radio bubble to life, and he grabbed it up, turning it up. And what he heard made him smile a bit, for he knew the message was going out over all the airwaves for both television and radio. He was finally generating some interest from the media.** _

* * *

…WE INTERRUPT THIS BROADCAST TO BRING YOU THE FOLLOWING NEWS BULLETIN: THE LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT IS REPORTING A VERY SERIOUS SITUATION IN THE VICINITY OF THE GRANITE COURT AREA. THEY ARE REQUESTING AT THIS TIME THAT THE PUBLIC STAY OUT OF THAT AREA, DUE TO SAFETY CONCERNS. POLICE OFFICIALS ARE NOT RELEASING WHAT EXACTLY THE SITUATION IS, BUT FROM EYEWITNESSES IN THAT AREA, POLICE ARE APPARENTLY DEALING WITH A POSSIBLE SNIPER IN THE VICINITY OF THE GRANITE COURT AND GRANITE PARK AREA. A POLICE SPOKESPERSON DECLINED COMMENT, ONLY STATING THAT THE ENTIRE AREA BETWEEN OAKTREE AND CHICORY DRIVES, AND ADAMSON AND MORRIS AVENUES ARE SHUT DOWN, AND RESIDENTS AND BUSINESSES IN THAT AREA HAVE BEEN EVACUATED. WE HAVE NO WORD ON ANY INJURIES OR DEATHS, BUT WE CAN REPORT THAT SEVERAL LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS, ALONG WITH FIRE RESCUE SQUADS AND AMBULANCES HAVE BEEN DISPATCHED TO THAT AREA. WE UNDERSTAND THAT A SWAT TEAM IS ALSO BEING MOBILIZED. AS YOUR CHANNEL FIVE ACTION NEWS TEAM, WE HAVE NEWS CREWS EN ROUTE TO THE LOCATION ON BOTH THE GROUND AND IN THE AIR. WE HOPE TO BRING YOU FURTHER INFORMATION ON THIS RAPIDLY DEVELOPING STORY AS SOON AS IT BECOMES POSSIBLE. WE NOW RETURN YOU TO REGULAR PROGRAMMING…

* * *

" _One-L-20 from Air Ten, do you copy?"_

" _This is One-L-20, Air Ten, go ahead."_

" _Uh…yeah, Mac, we can give you a bit of an idea of what you've got. We can tell you it looks like there's about twenty-five, maybe thirty civilians in that park and on the street below. It's hard to tell which ones are injured and which ones aren't. It's also hard to tell from up here about how many fatalities there are, but I'd say there's quite a few, just from what we saw on our swing-through. You've got several small children in the park, along with adults. It looks possibly like you might have a small bunch of preschool kids in there, too. We did see a minibus with the name 'HappyTime Preschool' on the side of it."_

" _Roger that, Air Ten. What can you tell me as far as the sniper setup?"_

" _He's on the roof of the Granite Court building. It looks like he's got a rifle mounted on a tripod. Other than that, we cannot visualize any other weapons. We spotted a footlocker, along with a tarp he's rigged up, evidently to either hide under or to shelter him from the sun. He's got the fire escape door propped open with something, can't tell what. We're keeping our distance for now, since we're not sure of how far of a range he's got on that rifle."_

" _Copy, Air Ten. Keep the chopper at a safe distance. Don't give him the chance to shoot you out of the sky."_

" _Roger, One-L-20. We'll keep you advised of his movements on the roof, and of those on the ground. What's the ETA on SWAT?"_

" _Air Ten, this is Sergeant Baron with SWAT. I have about a ten minute ETA yet to the scene with the Armadillo."_

" _Roger that, Sergeant Baron. You're bringing in the bad boy, huh?"_

" _Against my better judgement, yes. I guess we have to give him a chance and see how well he'll run under fire. I'm hoping like hell he won't fail us in our rescue attempts."_

" _Roger that, Gus. We'll be pullin' for you up here in the air, hoping you bring as many of those people as you can out alive. Air Ten standing by on Tac2."_

* * *

Back on the rooftop of the Granite Court building, the gunman laid the transistor radio down after hearing the news bulletin. He heard the chatter on the scanner's Tac2 frequency and wondered once more, what exactly in the hell was an Armadillo? He guessed he'd soon find out. Scanning the people in the park, he noticed that evidently no one wanted to make any moves right now, perhaps buoyed by the appearance of the police copter overhead and the idea that help was indeed, on the way. Picking up the binoculars, he sighted in on the two cops at the front of their squad car once more. He noticed they'd removed their watchcaps, setting them on the hood of their vehicle. With a frown, he studied the blonde-headed cop, the heavier one. Then quickly, he zoomed in on the other cop, the skinny one with dark hair. He focused last in on their sergeant, as he took off his watchcap and wiped at his forehead. He gasped aloud. Oh…it couldn't be! he thought to himself. It just couldn't be! He focused the binoculars in on all three of them once more. Oh yes, he recognized them quite well. Letting the high-powered binoculars thud back to his chest and sway from the strap around his neck, he reloaded the rifle, his movements precise and quick, evidencing a close familiarity with the weapon. When he was done, he snatched the binoculars up and zoomed once again in on the officers at the corner of Palmtree and Adamson. Then he smiled, starting to chuckle to himself at his sheer good luck. His plan was going much better than expected! He wanted to whoop for joy, as his heart beat rapidly in his chest. The presence of the three officers was the buttercreme icing on the proverbial cake. And he certainly intended to have his cake and eat it, too, now that he'd learned this juicy little detail.

 

" _ **Pete Malloy, Jim Reed, and Bill MacDonald," he muttered to himself. "You lousy, rat bastards. You three screwed me over once, but you won't screw me over again, I guarantee it. You just wait and see, boys. I've got a nice big surprise planned. A big, BIG surprise. One that will quite literally blow the three of you away…"**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **ALL ORIGINAL CONTENT OF THIS STORY IS THE SOLE PROPERTY OF BAMBOOZLEPIG AND MAY NOT BE USED WITHOUT PERMISSION.** In order to enhance the overall plot experience, creative liberties may have been intentionally taken with the real-life protocols depicted herein.

**Command Post, Palmtree and Adamson**

**1:30 P.M.**

_"One-Adam-11 to command post on Tac2, do you copy?"_

_"This is One-L-20 at the command post, go ahead."_

_"Mac, we're getting a bunch of spectators down here at our end of the roadblock on Adamson and Oaktree Drive. We're also starting to get members of the news media out here. For now, our perimeter is secured with our car and some crime scene tape, but we've had a few try to slip under the tape and get past the barrier. What they're doing is parking in the nearby business lots and trying to walk down. I don't know how the other units are doing on their ends, but you might want to have city shop en route out here with sawhorses and barrels, to block off these parking lots. And I think as the word spreads, we're gonna have more spectators than we can handle right now. You might consider asking for more officers to assist with traffic and crowd control."_

_"Roger that, One-Adam-11. I'll have dispatch notify city shop and get them en route with barricades. Other units handling roadblock detail, do you report the same thing on your ends?"_

_"One-Adam-49 reports the same here at Oaktree and Morris Avenue."_

_"One-Adam-43 reports the same at Morris and Palmtree. You might also consider placing a unit at Chicory and Morris. We've got a traffic back-up from people trying to come down Morris from the east, and not realizing it's blocked off. We're rerouting them through a gas station parking lot, but come rush hour, it's gonna be hell."_

_"One-Adam-14, we're able to keep traffic moving for now through our area. We're routing them up the one-way on Chicory and not letting anyone stop. It wouldn't hurt to have some barricades on our end, though, along with maybe another unit, as it gets closer to rush hour."_

_"Roger that, One-Adam-14. Dispatch from One-L-20, who all do we have available for traffic control?"_

_"One-L-20 from dispatch, I can send One-Adam-45 your way. Advise if you need any further, I may need to contact Highway Patrol and neighboring divisions for assistance."_

_"Copy, dispatch. Go ahead and contact city shop, too, and have them en route out here with barricades so we can tighten up the perimeters. And why don't you go ahead and contact Highway Patrol and the other divisions, see if they can send us some help. It's better to get this cleared out now, before rush hour traffic hits. "_

_"Roger, One-L-20. I'll contact city shop and have them en route. I'll also make contact with Highway Patrol and nearby divisions, see if they can send us some help."_

_"One-L-20 from Air Ten, do you copy?"_

_"Yeah, Air Ten, I do. Go ahead, Walters."_

_"You might actually consider backing the perimeter off another block or so on either side of Palmtree. You're liable to start getting a jam up there, especially on Adamson and Oaktree, and it appears that the natives might be getting restless."_

_"Um…roger, Air Ten. Lemme see what I can do."_

_"Copy, Mac. Don't wait too long. Otherwise it'll take a year to clear that traffic out. And you know how impatient the natives become with traffic jams."_

_"Roger, Air Ten. Just stand by."_

* * *

"Damn it," Mac mutters, looking at the map Mike Stoker drew up for him. He motions to Captain Stanley. "What's the next two north and southbound streets on Adamson Avenue, from Oaktree and Chicory?" he asks. "We need to get roadblocks up there it seems."

"Mapletree Drive is on the other side of Oaktree Drive, while Pinetree is on the other side of Chicory Drive," Stanley tells him. Both roads intersect with Morris and Adamson Avenues."

"We're definitely going to have to have assistance from the other agencies," I tell Mac. "I'm really surprised that we haven't had any lookie-loos try and sneak in to where we're at."

"Give 'em time," Mac says.

"Why don't you just call in the National Guard?" Chet Kelly asks, a faint smirk on his face. "Sounds to me that would be the simplest thing to do."

Mac shoots him a glare that quickly withers Kelly's smirk. "I cannot call up the National Guard," he replies. "A request like that would have to go through the proper channels."

"I think he's just joking, Mac," Reed says, trying to dispel the obvious tension between the crew of Engine 51 and Mac. "No one expects you to call up the National Guard."

"This isn't a joke," Mac snaps. "This is a very bad situation we have on our hands, and I'm trying to deal with it the best I can."

 _"Command post from One-Adam-11, do you copy?"_  comes the voice of Bob Brinkman.

Mac snatches the radio up. "Yeah, go ahead, Brink."

_"You've got a female subject driving a red Chevy Monte Carlo en route to your post. She tried to go around our roadblock, and when we stopped her, she threw it in reverse and drove through one of the parking lots. She says her daughter and grandkids are in Granite Park. She's coming your way, so be advised."_

"Roger, Brink. We'll stop her," Mac says. "Dispatch from One-L-20?"

_"Go ahead, One-L-20."_

"What's the ETA on the barricades out here?"

_"City shop has been notified and they're on their way out there. Likely ETA is around ten minutes or so. Also I've made contact with Highway Patrol, they're sending us four state troopers in to assist. I've contacted the nearby divisions, too, and they'll send units to your location as soon as they can. I've advised HP and the other divisions to remain on Tac2 for further traffic."_

"Good," Mac says into the mike. "We need those barricades out here, pronto. We've got several parking lots that the curious can drive through and try to get down here to our location."

_"Roger, One-L-20, we're all working as fast as we can on this."_

And just as Brinkman predicted, a red Chevy Monte Carlo comes screeching up the alleyway we cleared the businesses out of a bit ago. It nearly hits Adam-12 as it squeals to a stop, making me cringe involutarily. A tiny blonde woman in a peasant skirt and t-shirt jumps out. "Hey!" she yells, waving at Mac. "Officer, I need your help!"

Mac goes over to her. "Ma'am, this area is off-limits to the public right now. You need to put your car in reverse and get out of here immediately."

"But you don't understand!" she says, panic edging her voice. "My daughter, granddaughter, and grandson are in Granite Park! And I heard over the radio that there's a sniper shooting at people in Granite Park, and you've just gotta get her and those kids out!" She tugs on Mac's sleeve as she speaks.

"Ma'am," Mac soothes her. "We're doing everything that we can do right now to resolve this situation we have on our hands. Now I assure you, we're trying to protect the people in the park. What you need to do is get back into your car and return to the perimeter. We'll let you know as soon as possible what information we're able to pass along. For now, please do as I ask of you. Otherwise, I'll have to arrest you for interference."

"But you don't understand!" she wails again, tears rolling down her face. "My daughter and my grandbabies are all I've got! Can't you at least tell me if they're okay or not?"

"We are not able to divulge that information now, ma'am," Mac tells her. "Like I just said, as soon as we know ourselves, we'll pass it along to you. But you need to return to the perimeter and wait there, okay?"

"Oh no," she says, collapsing against Mac. "They're dead, aren't they? My precious ones, they're dead." Her voice is a low moan.

"We don't know that, ma'am," Mac says. "We have no idea of any injuries or fatalities so far. We're only just starting to piece the scene together ourselves. Now please, return to the perimeter."

"I'll drive her back," Chet Kelly says. "I'll make sure she gets back behind the perimeter safely."

"Thanks," Mac tells him, as Kelly assists the weeping woman to the passenger side of her car, delicately helping her in. He then gets into the driver's seat and throws it in reverse, backing the car down the alleyway. He returns in a few minutes, loping down the alleyway. "She's agreed to remain behind the lines," he tells us. "But she's pretty upset."

"You're gonna have more scenes like that Mac," I say. "People have heard over the radio or tv that we've got a possible sniper situation in the Granite Park area, and realizing that their friends or loved ones are in there, they'll descend on us for answers we don't have."

"Don't you think I realize that, Pete?" Mac snaps at me. "I'm doing the best I can, damn it! If you have any suggestions, then let's hear them! Otherwise, just back off and let me think!"

I stare at him for a moment. Then I speak. "Get the logistics truck rolling out here so we have it on scene for when we plan on going in and getting that bastard off of the roof. Then consider designating an area for family members to wait until we have news for them. Keep them away from the news media. The last thing we need is those vultures preying on the families of victims in there." Then, wordlessly I return to the front of Adam-12. Jim Reed follows me, while the group of firefighters return to the engine. None of us wants to be in Mac's way right now.

"I wonder how it got out that we're dealing with a sniper?" Reed asks quietly. "We both heard the request to dispatch Mac put out about informing the media. He didn't say anything about a sniper."

"Probably someone from either the car lot or the furniture warehouse," I say. "They probably alerted the media about it."

"I don't think this is gonna be good, Pete," Jim says, his fingers rubbing the spot where his wedding ring usually sits. He quit wearing it at work a few years ago, and in recent months, he's quit wearing it completely. The marriage between Jim and Jean has hit a rocky patch, complete with cliffs and boulders and avalanches, and there's been more than a few nights that he's ended up sleeping on my couch. He won't divulge much about their marriage problems, and it's not my habit to intrude on his business. But I know now, right now, he's thinking of his wife and child, and nothing else, imagining them in the park, facing fire from a sniper on a roof. "I just don't think this is gonna have a good ending," he says softly, gazing down the street.

"Well, keep that kind of optimistic attitude and it won't," I tell him.

He shoots me a look. "You know what I mean, Pete. I think we're gonna get into that park and find an awful lot of fatalities. Especially if what Air Ten said is true. There's a bunch of preschoolers in there. I'm not looking forward to going in there, that's for damned sure."

"So don't," I say. "Don't go in there. I volunteered you for it without thinking, and shouldn't have. I think Vince Howard is a member of county's SWAT team, I'm sure he'd be willing to suit up and ride in."

"I said I'd do it, Pete!" Reed snaps suddenly. His eyes flash angrily at me, and I know what's eating at him: the idea of going in there and finding dead children in the park. I hate like hell to do it myself, but someone's got to. If there's any chance of us bringing anybody out of that park alive, we've got to take it.

I hear Mac's voice over my shoulder. "Dispatch from One-L-20," he says.

_"This is dispatch, One-L-20, go ahead."_

"Why don't you go ahead and roll the logistics truck to this location?" he asks.

_"Ten-four, One-L-20. Do you wish the sound truck to roll too?"_

"No, not at this time I don't. Just the logistics truck. Make sure they bring in an updated map for this area," he tells dispatch.

_"Roger, One-L-20, I'll have the logistics truck rolling with an updated map."_

"Roger, dispatch." Mac comes over to Reed and I. "Let's get one thing straight here," he tells me. "I'm in charge of this operation, Malloy. And I will be until it's a four."

"I'm aware of that," I say. "I'm not trying to undermine your authority or anything, I was just trying to be helpful."

He takes in a deep breath and lets it out with a sigh. "I know it," he says, running a hand through his hair. "I think I'm just getting too damned old to be dealing with this kind of shit."

_"One-L-20 from One-Adam-43, the Armadillo is just now passing our roadblock. It should be rolling your way shortly."_

Mac reaches in and grabs our radio mike. "Roger that, One-Adam-43, we'll be watching."

"What the hell is an Armadillo anyway?" asks Captain Stanley.

I point up the street to the vehicle lumbering our way. "That, gentlemen, is an Armadillo," I tell the fire crew.

* * *

Roof of the Granite Court building

**1:45 P.M.**

_**The gunman watched with avid interest through the binoculars at the vehicle that came wallowing up the street. Hell, he thought, it's nothing more than a tricked-out armored car setup. He nodded. Yeah, he could take care of that mother later on. He'd let them try and run their rescues; hell, maybe he'd let them succeed in a few. It would be interesting to see how the rig ran, in any case. He also spotted several ambulances pulling into the vacant lot behind the furniture warehouse, evidently to set up trauma and triage areas. He watched as the driver of the armored car rig got out and conferred with the other three police officers as they suited up in their SWAT gear, while the fire crew worked on helping to set up the triage spot. Well, he'd deal with them later on, too. Oh yes, he had plenty of plans laid out for today…it was just a pity that he only had one day to do it all in.** _

_**Hearing the approach of another helicopter, he lowered the binoculars and scanned the sky, spotting the bird coming in from the east. It didn't look like a medevac chopper or another police copter, so he looked through the binoculars at it. KNAT Channel Five Action News read the logo on the side of the chopper. Curious, he went over to the other side of the roof and looked over at the area of Oaktree Drive and Adamson Avenue. He spotted several news trucks raising their aerial masts, while perfectly coiffured news reporters mingled around, their mikes in their hands, waiting patiently for their news cameras to go ahead and give them the word that they had a live feed. He mock-bowed to them, even though they couldn't see him. Oh yes, he'd put on a fine fine show for all the babbling fools today, one that they would not soon forget. He went to the southeastern corner of the Granite Court building, to see if the media had gathered there, too, but noticed that the cops working that corner kept the traffic moving. He waved as the news chopper buzzed low over him. He briefly considered shooting at it, but he didn't want to dim his limelight. After all, this WAS his day. Instead, he returned to the rifle and focused in on the park once more, gazing at the people lulled into the security and the knowledge that the police were now on the scene, and everything was going to be okay. Or at least that's what they thought…** _

* * *

_"One-L-20 from Air Ten, do you copy?"_

_"This is One-L-20, Air Ten, go ahead."_

_"Hey Mac, get ahold of Action Five News and tell 'em to get their damned chopper the hell out of our airspace. They're interfering with us, and if we start getting medevac choppers in, the air is gonna get mighty cluttered up here."_

_"Roger, Air Ten. Dispatch, you need to get ahold of Action Five News and tell them to get their news copter out of this area immediately. Tell them that if they don't comply, we'll have the FAA revoke their flight plan and ground them, pronto."_

_"Roger, One-L-20. Advise also if the trauma teams have arrived on scene yet."_

_"Roger, dispatch. We've got three trauma teams on scene now, two from Rampart and one from Central Receiving. Any idea on the medevac choppers?"_

_"Schaefer's is willing to fly missions, but the Coast Guard choppers can't. They're concerned that the choppers might be too big to land in a small area."_

_"Go ahead and get Schaefer's flying. Request one bird for now, will advise if we need any others."_

_"Roger, One-L-20. Putting Schaefer's in the air right now."_

_"Tell them they need to come in from the south and east of this location. We have a vacant lot set up for trauma and triage. They'll be landing in that lot, we'll have a landing zone set up for them here shortly. They need to stay to the south of the Granite Court building, we don't want them interfering with Air Ten's flight plan."_

_"Roger, One-L-20. I'll pass that along. I have also activated the Emergency Command Center here in dispatch, put an all-call out for any available off-duty officers and dispatchers in this area to assist with this. The Captain has been notified of this situation and is in conference now with the Chief. I'll advise shortly what they intend to do."_

_"Copy, dispatch. Standing by for now."_

* * *

The Armadillo, driven by Sergeant Gus Baron, head of the SWAT team for our division, pulls up between Adam-12 and Engine 51. I cast an admiring glance over it once, then I go around to the back of the rig and yank the rear doors open. Reed follows me. I grab a pair of black coveralls, handing them to Reed, then I take a set for myself. Unbuckling my gunbelt, I lay it inside Mac's car on the backseat, and it's soon followed by my uniform shirt. Reed does the same. The coveralls go on over our uniform pants and t-shirts as part of our SWAT gear.

"What the hell IS this thing?" I hear Chet Kelly ask Gus Baron. "It looks like an armored car."

"It is," Baron tells him. "A specially-made armored car. We took a Brink's truck and added heavier plating to the sides, top, engine compartment, and flooring. It's got bulletproof glass in the windshield and side windows, and metal plating covering the wheel wells, so the wheels can't be shot out. It can withstand a nearly full-on explosion, and still remain upright. It's kinda like a tank, except it's a lot more mobile than a tank is."

"When did you guys get this?" Mike Stoker asks, running a hand over the gleaming grey metal as he admires it.

"About six months ago," Gus tells him. "After seeing the sniper attacks in Austin and Atlanta, we knew it was only a matter of time that something like that would happen here. We wanted to be prepared for it when it occurred."

Reed and I are still suiting up in our gear as Gus comes around the back of the Armadillo, followed by Mac. "Fill me in on what we know," he says to Mac as he strips off his suitcoat and tie, grabbing his own set of coveralls.

"There's only one way into the park as far as the Armadillo is concerned, and that's through the main entrance," Mac tells him. "Air Ten reports twenty-five to thirty people in the park, unknown how many are injured or dead. The medics are pinned in next to their truck, and if we'll get them on the first pass through, we can put them to work in the triage area."

Gus nods. "I've brought a few extra vests and equipment, just in case we need to suit up any other members later on."

Deputy Vince Howard has returned from the house-to-house evacuations over on Shale. He pulls in behind Mac's car and gets out. "I've gotten all the houses cleared out over on Shale," he tells Mac. "Anywhere else you need me to go?"

"How'd traffic look over on Adamson and Oaktree?" Mac asks him.

"Pretty congested," Vince tells him. "You've got quite a bit of news media setting up over there. You want me to go ahead and swing back over there, give them a hand at the roadblock?"

"Yeah, why don't you," Mac says. "We've got Highway Patrol and other divisions rolling in to assist, but if you could do that, it would be great."

"Will do," Vince says, getting back into his squad car and driving up around Mac's car via the sidewalk. He swings down the alleyway and disappears.

"You're using the new equipment, huh?" Mac asks Gus, gesturing to our gear.

"Yep," Gus tells him, thumping his Kevlar vest. "Best investment the city made for us six months ago. These and the helmets. The old gear wouldn't have withstood much if it came right down to it." He has set the extra SWAT gear next to Mac's car.

"That's reassuring to hear," I remark dryly as I tuck the pants of the coveralls into the high black boots. "Considering that we had to wear that old gear more than a few times." I point to Mac's car. "Our uniform shirts and gunbelts are in there on the passenger side on the backseat," I tell him, slipping the webbed military harness over my heavy Kevlar vest.

"Are those vests gonna stop a sniper's bullet?" asks Captain Stanley.

"That's the idea," Gus says. He pats the Armadillo proudly, then he gestures to the gear we're wearing. "The city made the decision to upgrade our gear about a year ago. We tested out different types of vests and vehicles, and decided that these were the best, all the way around. We've run the Armadillo out at Camp Pendleton just last month and he proved out well. Same with the gear. The Los Angeles Police Department is very up-to-date on our equipment and technology. We're one of the first large police departments in the United States to do so. We're capable of facing whatever gets thrown at us."

"You hope," Mac says dryly.

"Don't you guys get hot wearing all that gear?" Mike Stoker asks. "It looks heavy and uncomfortable."

"It's no more heavier or uncomfortable than your full turnout gear and air tanks and masks," I tell him.

"You guys look like Ninjas or something," Chet Kelly tells us as he eyeballs us in our black coveralls, high-laced boots, Kevlar vests, black surplus Army helmets, and military harnesses that hold the extra ammo clips for our rifles. He reaches out and raps Reed on the back of his vest with a fist. "Pretty kick-ass," he says approvingly.

We look up as a convoy of ambulances come wailing down the street. "Why don't you guys go assist with setting up the triage area?" Mac asks the three firefighters. I notice that he doesn't include Captain Stanley, and I exchange a look with Reed. When the firefighters are out of earshot, Mac turns to Gus. "From what the medics have said, there's a lot of fatalities in that park, including kids. When the Armadillo gets underway, grab the medics first. There's enough of a turnaround at the end of the street for the rig to maneuver. Once we get them back here safely, we'll drop them off and proceed with rescue operations."

"Right," Gus says. "And the rule of thumb as far as injuries and fatalities go is this: you guys grab only the viable ones, leave the dead and the dying behind. We don't have time to waste picking them up. Got it?"

Reed stares at him in shock. "That's pretty cold, Gus. How do we decide who to grab and who to leave? We're not medics and we're certainly not God."

"No, you'll have to fly it on your own judgement. It's critical that we get in there and get out of there as fast as we can. While we've got the helmets and the vests, he's still got the rifle, and he sure as hell can shoot at us whenever he likes," Gus says. "I'm not trying to be callous or cruel, Reed, we just can't waste time over somebody who is at death's door and is more than likely to die in the back of the Armadillo before we can get them to triage." He looks around the rear door of the Armadillo at the building in the near distance. "He's gonna fire on you any chance he gets, so one of you needs to lay down cover fire while the other one grabs the victims. Try to keep his head down as best you can. Move fast, no dilly-dallying around. Grab 'em, toss 'em in the back end of the rig, and we take off. Don't worry about making them comfortable, that's the job of the triage area. Ours is to get them out of there. You will likely be faced with victims that don't realize their loved ones or friends are dead, and want you to load them up anyway, but we can't, and you'll need to enforce that idea. Any DB's on the ground are part of the crime scene and shouldn't be moved. We'll tag 'em and bag 'em later on, once we get that sonofabitch down from there, but our main concern is the living victims and the ones that can be saved." Gus hands me a small CC unit, which I clip to my harness. "We keep in touch here with Mac," he says, handing Mac a similar unit. "Just in case something should go terribly wrong. I'll be watching for the victims when we start rolling, and I'll call out their locations when I stop. Like I said, one grabs the victims, the other lays down cover fire. If a victim can't be grabbed the first time around, let me know and we'll make a second pass if we can. Keep the rear doors open a bit, so you can get in and out of the rig quickly." He studies Reed and I in our gear, a serious expression on his face. "This isn't going to be easy, I hope you two realize that. It's not going to be like our manuevers at Pendleton. This is the real deal, and you're gonna see a lot of hell and suffering out there."

"We know it, Gus," I say quietly. "But if it saves some lives, let's do it."

"Right," he says, handing Reed and I each our M16 semi-automatic rifles.

"What if we get a good shot at him?" Reed asks, running a hand over the butt of the gun.

"If you have a clear shot, then take it, by all means," Gus says. "But at four stories up, and with the action down on the ground, I doubt you'll get that chance."

"I take it it's now a shoot-to-kill order?" I ask.

Gus hesitates. "It's an if-you've-got-the-chance-then-take-it order," he says.

Dr. Kelly Brackett comes over, followed by Dr. Mike Morton and nurses Dixie McCall and Geri Lombard from Rampart Hospital. Along with him is the trauma team from Central Receiving, made up of Dr. John Watson and nurse Sandy Rogers. "Can you tell us an approximate idea of what we're going to be dealing with here?" Dr. Brackett asks Mac.

Mac nods. "According to Air Ten, we've got around thirty or so people in that park that are pinned down by sniper fire and have been for the last hour or so. We're not sure how many are injured, but we're figuring the range is pretty high, in both injuries and fatalities. A lot of them may be kids, we don't know. Air Ten reports seeing a preschool bus in the parking lot. We'll be sending Malloy and Reed in on the Armadillo in to perform rescues of the wounded. Any deceased victims will be left where they're at. As far as trauma, you're looking at multiple gunshot wounds. We've got Schaefer's en route with one of their medevac choppers, let me know if you need more. Once Malloy and Reed bring the victims back here, we'll unload them in this lot we've got set up for triage. We've got Rampart and Central Receiving set up as the two primary trauma hospitals, and the others have been put on secondary standby."

"I've got the rescue squads from 88 and 36 coming in to assist," Captain Stanley tells him. "They should be getting here shortly. And of course, when we get Gage and DeSoto out of the field, they'll be able to help out, too, along with my crew."

"Right," Dr. Brackett says. He turns to the assembled group of doctors and nurses. "This is just like the disaster simulation we ran through last month," he tells them. "Only this time it's for real. We're gonna be faced with a bunch of critically injured patients, along with those that aren't as badly hurt but are in shock. The criticals go first as far as treatment. Assess quickly, load, and get the ambulance moving. We have to be fast here, folks; lives are on the line, and we're their first defense at keeping them alive. Remember your triage tags: red is critical and needs immediate treatment, yellow is injured but can wait, green is for the walking wounded, white means no injuries, and black is deceased." He surveys his teams. "Let's finish getting set up so we're ready when the victims start rolling in." The group, along with the three firefighters, returns to the vacant lot to finish getting set up.

Gus looks at Captain Stanley. "Get your medics notified we're on our way in in a minute or so." He then looks back at us. "Remember, above all, keep yourselves safe. No heroics, no hotdogging. A Medal Of Valor is small consolation when you're six feet under." He grabs his own rifle to set it on the seat of the Armadillo. He nods to Mac. "We're ready to roll, Mac."

Mac sticks his hand out for us to shake, and Captain Stanley does the same thing. "Be careful out there," he says.

"Yeah," Stanley says. "Try and bring my medics back alive. They're pretty expensive to replace, you know. You just can't go to a medic shop and buy some new ones." He shoots us a small smile. "Gage," he says into the HT. "The cops are on their way in. You and DeSoto watch for them."

 _"Finally,"_  Gage's voice sighs sarcastically.  _"It's about damned time. If my ass falls any more asleep, it'll be next year before it wakes up. Plus, I think Roy's getting a little bored here. You can only play Twenty Questions for so long, you know."_

Reed and I climb in the back of the rig, while Gus goes around the front, climbing in and starting the Armadillo's engine. It turns over with a purr. Crouching on the benches on either side of the rig, Reed and I hold the doors partially closed as the Armadillo slowly cruises forward into the zone. The last thing we see is Mac watching the vehicle lumber away, a look of grim sadness on his face.

"He acts like he's sending us into battle," Reed says.

"He is," I reply. "And let's hope the both of us make it out alive."

* * *

Roof of Granite Court building

**2:00 P.M.**

_**The sniper watched the armored rig lumbering up Granite Court. He cast a discerning eye over it, looking for any possible chinks in its heavy armor. He could detect none; hell, even the wheels had metal shields over the wheel wells to protect them from getting shot out. As a test, he aimed the rifle at the windshield glass and fired, but the bullet had absolutely no effect. The rig pulled up alongside the red rescue squad to pick up the two county medics. The driver of the Armadillo had pulled it close enough to the rescue squad so that the sniper couldn't take a shot at them at all. After a few minutes, the Armadillo took off with a slight lurch, heading towards the dead Marine and his girlfriend in the roadway. The two cops, Malloy and Reed, hopped out of the back end of the Armadillo; Malloy had an assault rifle in his hands. Taking aim at the rooftop of the building, he quickly laid down cover fire as Reed checked the Marine and the girl over for signs of life. The sniper was forced to duck below the parapet, and when he re-emerged, the Armadillo was already chugging towards the dead mother and her child in the roadway, along with the deputy he'd shot in the first few moments of his rampage. Again, Malloy laid down fire as Reed checked the victims for signs of life. The sniper was forced to duck once more. Next up were a mother and child huddled by a car, and before hiding behind the parapet, the sniper fired off a random shot, which went unnoticed by any of the rescuers. When he stood back up, the Armadillo was swinging into the turnaround at the end of the street and returning back to the command post. Eyeing his rifle, the sniper thought for a moment, then he reached out, taking off the silencer off of the weapon. Now that the initial fear over the silent unknown of the attack had been achieved, he didn't care if the gunshots were heard. Reed and Malloy might as well know when they were being fired upon. He wanted to see them cringe in fear, not know who or where the bullet was going to hit. Oh yes, this day was turning out to be infinitely interesting. How lucky again was he that he managed to draw Reed and Malloy, along with Mac, as the responding officers to this crisis. And even luckier was the fact that Reed and Malloy were SWAT members, and would be performing the rescues of those on the ground. He decided to let them save a few victims, just for a little ego boost to them, but he also decided to take away some more lives as rescue operations progressed. He toyed with the idea of actually zeroing in on one of them, either Reed or Malloy, and killing them, but he decided to wait. After all, it was much more fun to play such a deadly game of cat-and-mouse with one's enemies…and he had plenty of lovely little traps laid for all of them…** _

* * *

Granite Park battle zone

**2:00 P.M.**

The Armadillo jostles and sways as we enter the battle zone created by the sniper. It's not an easy ride in the back end of that rig; it gets hot and stuffy inside really fast, and it's also pretty cramped quarters. Already I feel beads of sweat forming under the band of my helmet, and I take a quick swipe at them. I shoot a look at Jim Reed. "I'll lay down the fire if you wanna check the victims," I tell him.

He nods. "Fine by me. Keep his head down as best you can, Pete. I don't wanna become a sieve."

"We're coming up on the medics!" Gus hollers through the small interior portal. "On the right! When I stop, get 'em aboard as fast as you can!"

The Armadillo rolls to a stop and Reed and I leap out. We're shielded by the doors of the Armadillo, so I don't have to worry about laying down fire just yet. "Anyone call for a taxi?" I quip to John Gage.

"About damned time," he says, shooting us a lopsided grin. "I need to complain to your manager. Your timing is lousy as far as how long it took you guys to get out here. We called for a cab over an hour ago." He hands off the red biophone and black drug tackle box to Reed, who slides it into the Armadillo. "What the hell is this thing anyway?" he asks, gesturing to the rig.

"It's your chariot to safety," Reed says. "Otherwise known as an Armadillo."

"It should be known as ugly," Johnny says.

"Now, now, Junior," Roy DeSoto says, shoving their defibrillator and O2 into the rig. "Let's not look a gift Armadillo in the mouth. Reed and Malloy have driven all this way in to save our butts, so I'd be grateful for that. Otherwise, I'm sure they'd be happy to just leave you here, if you want."

"Oh, HELL NO!" Gage says, his eyes wide as he shakes his head. "I've had quite enough of sitting on my ass watching the clouds roll by overhead. I'm ready for some action, Pally."

"Uh…guys?" Reed asks, eyeing the amount of equipment the medics have quickly loaded aboard the rig. "I don't think we're supposed to off-load your truck into ours. We still hafta fit in there somehow, too."

"True that," Roy says. "But we'll unload the equipment at the triage area. It's just the basic stuff we'll need." He climbs aboard the rig.

"Yeah," Gage says, also climbing aboard. "We were nice. We left the stokes, and the longboard, and…"

"Enough," Reed says, as he and I climb on, pulling the doors slightly shut. "We don't need an inventory, Johnny." He points to their turnout coats and helmets that they've tossed on the two benches. "But I do see that you didn't forget your turnout gear."

"Yep," Johnny says. "Don'tcha know? A fashionable firefighter NEVER forgets his turnout gear. It thrills the chicks."

"Yeah, so what's Chet Kelly's excuse?" I ask. "He wears his turnout gear, yet he's always whining about never having a date."

Roy and John exchange a wry look. "It's Chet's personality," they say at the same time.

"Are they aboard?" Gus yells.

"Yeah, go ahead!" I yell back.

"We've got possibles coming up in the road, to the right!" he hollers. "Looks like two!"

"Got it!" Reed yells.

The Armadillo slowly rolls to a stop and we prepare to leap out again. Gage starts to follow us, but Roy yanks him back by the shoulder. "What in the hell are you doing?" he asks John with dismay.

"I'm gonna check the victims," Gage tells him.

"No," Roy says. "Let Pete and Jim do it. They're wearing the vests and helmets, we're not. No sense in getting yourself shot, Johnny." And with a grumble, Johnny settles back into the Armadillo.

This time we're exposed to the sniper's gunfire when we get out, so while Reed checks a young man in a Marine uniform, and a young woman in a pink flowered dress, I lay down cover fire with the M16 in order to keep him from shooting at us. The rifle bucks a bit in my hands and I have to steady myself. Reed taps my shoulder, and I glance back. He shakes his head and we climb back aboard. "Go, Gus!" Reed yells.

"Aren't you gonna get them?" Johnny asks.

"They're dead," Reed tells him. "There's nothing we can do for them."

"So you're just gonna leave them lying there?" he asks sharply.

"We have to," I say. "They're part of the crime scene. Any DB's we run across we have to leave where they're at. It's orders."

"More possibles, coming up, on the right!" Gus yells. "Looks like three!"

Once again, we jump out of the rig. Reed quickly checks the victims, a young mother and her child, and a sheriff's deputy, while I shoot at the sniper, keeping his head down. Reed taps my shoulder and shakes his head, and we climb back aboard.

"Dead?" Roy asks grimly.

Wordlessly, Jim nods.

"That deputy is Ronnie Smith," Johnny says quietly. "His wife just had a baby about a month ago. And now he's dead. How is she gonna cope?"

"Like any other wife that's lost someone in the line of duty," Roy tells him. "One day at a time."

"But we know him," Johnny says plaintively. "We helped him build his patio last summer."

"You can't dwell on it right now," I say. "We have other victims to worry about, live ones that need our help."

"That's pretty harsh, Malloy," Gage says, his voice edged with a bit of anger.

"It's also the truth," Reed tells him. "We'll do our mourning later on. Right now we need to be focused in on getting these people out."

"Two more possibles, coming up!" Gus yells. "On the right, next to the blue car!"

The rig rolls to a stop and we hop out. While I fire at the sniper's rooftop nest, Reed helps a mother and her child quickly into the Armadillo. "Let's go!" he yells at me, and I climb back aboard, and the two of us tug the doors shut most of the way. "Gus, we can't take any more aboard!" Reed yells. "We're full up!"

"Got it! Heading back to base!" Gus yells back.

Wide-eyed and shaking, the young woman stares at the four of us, her toddler son clutched firmly in her arms. "I brought him to the park to play," she tells us, her voice quivering. Her eyes are huge, the pupils dilated with fear.

"Take it easy, Miss," Johnny soothes. "Are you or your little boy hurt anywhere?"

She continues to stare at us. "I just brought him to the park to play," she repeats. "To play." The little boy whimpers, his mother's shirt sleeves clenched tightly in his small fists.

"She's in shock," Roy says in a low tone. "I think we're gonna see a lot of this."

"Ma'am, may I see if either of you are injured anywhere?" Johnny asks her, his tone still mellow and calming.

"NO!" she screams, as the Armadillo swings into the turnaround, throwing us all off balance. "NO! GET AWAY FROM ME!" she shrieks. "DON'T YOU TOUCH ME!" Her voice rings stridently in the close quarters of the rig.

Wisely Gage backs off, while she huddles on the floor of the rig, weeping against her little boy's downy blonde head. With a lurch, the rig crosses back into the safety perimeter, and jostles and bounces as Gus drives it up over the sidewalk and into the triage area. When we open the doors, we are greeted by Dr. Brackett.

"What have you got?" he asks, as we hand the mother and child out of the rig.

"She's in shock," Roy says. "We were unable to ascertain if she or her son have any injuries. She wouldn't let us touch her." He jerks a thumb at their equipment in the rig. "We pulled as much off of Squad 51 as we could, Doc," he says as he climbs out. "Who all have we got as far as other rescue squads on scene?"

"We've got 88's and 36's here," Brackett says. "Including your all-time favorite, Paramedic Craig Brice."

"Oh lord," Johnny mutters as he helps unload their gear. "Just what we need on TOP of a sniper attack. The world's most perfect paramedic. I think I'd rather be back in the battle zone."

"We can arrange that," I tell him. "Just hop back aboard when we go back into the site and we'll drop you off at your truck."

Gage gets a squinty-eyed look, a sure indicator that he's thinking hard about something. And whatever it is, it's likely not to be a very good idea.

"Hey, you two about ready to roll again?" Gus asks through the portal window. "I've gotta swing the rig by the command post and let Mac know what we're seeing so far, as far as fatalities. He may want to activate the coroner's mass casualty team."

"We're ready," I say, handing off the red biophone to Dixie McCall. Reed and I jump into the back of the rig.

"Roy, you stay here," Johnny says, hopping in along with us.

"Whadday doing, you idiot?" Roy asks. "You can't ride back with them. You're needed here in trauma and triage."

"I'll be back," Gage calls to his bewildered partner. "I've got an idea I wanna run past Cap!"

Gus pilots the Armadillo deftly out of the lot, threading it between the sidewalk and Mac's wagon, pulling up next to Mac and Captain Stanley. He opens his door and gets out. "Just a heads-up, Mac, we're seeing a lot of fatalities so far. The count is five DB's in the street. You might wanna notify the coroner's office, have them en route out here with their mass casualty unit. I have a feeling the toll is gonna be even higher in the park."

John Gage has gotten out of the back end of the rig and has picked up one of the extra bulletproof vests and helmets that Gus laid by Mac's car. "Hey," he says. "I have an idea, and just hear me out." He holds the vest up. "What if I put this gear on and went in with Reed and Malloy to help pull victims out?" he asks, his gaze flickering hopefully between Captain Stanley and Mac.

Stanley shakes his head. "No can do, pal. You're needed at the triage area. You'll do more good there."

"You don't understand," Gage says. "Reed and Malloy aren't trained medics, like I am. They're being expected to make an on-the-spot assessment of a patient's injuries, something that I'm better equipped to do than they are. If you'll let me do it, I guarantee you that we'll get those people out of there faster. With two sets of hands working to get those people aboard, it'll be a piece of cake. As it is now, Pete has to lay down fire at the sniper, just so Jim can check on the victims."

"You can't guarantee that you won't get shot," Mac tells him. "I refuse to let you do it, Gage. Not only is liability a big issue, but so's the fact that it's dangerous. You could get in there and get injured or killed. You might compromise the safety of Pete and Jim, because they'd be trying to keep an eye on you. I won't risk it."

"And neither will I," Stanley tells him. "So forget it, John."

"Let's roll," Gus says to us, as he climbs back into the Armadillo. "Time's a-wasting."

"Sorry, Johnny," Jim tells him, clapping a hand on a dejected-looking Gage's shoulder. "Maybe in the next sniper attack we'll let you tag along." He and I climb into the back. We leave the rear doors open as the rig starts up, trying to keep the air circulating in the stuffy back end until we re-enter the battle zone. "It's too bad," Jim says. "It was a good idea."

"I know it, but we can't risk it," I tell him.

Gage is standing there watching us roll, the vest and helmet still clutched in his hands. He casts a quick glance at Captain Stanley and at Mac, who are in conversation, then he suddenly takes off at a run. He's past them in a blur of blue before they can react. "Hey!" Stanley yells at him. "Damn it, Gage, get your ass back here!"

Quickly, Johnny catches up to the still slow-moving rig, flinging the vest and helmet aboard, then flinging himself in behind them. "Hi ya, guys," he says, flashing that lopsided grin. "I couldn't let you have all the excitement to yourselves." Reed and I swing the doors shut behind him.

I grab him by the collar of his shirt and yank him towards me. "You goddamned fool," I growl angrily. "Just what in the hell kind of stunt do you think you're pulling?"

He stares at me in startlement. "Saving lives, Malloy. It's what I'm good at…damned good. And if you'll give me the chance, I'll prove it to you."

"Gus," Jim calls. "We've got a stowaway on board. John Gage decided to join us."

"Damn it," Gus says. "I can't turn back now, we're in the zone."

"So it looks like you're stuck with me," John says. "Now how in the hell do you put this stupid vest on?" he asks.

"You realize that you're running the risk of getting shot," Jim says as he helps Gage into the vest. "Or worse yet, getting us shot."

"Yeah, I'm not too worried about that," Johnny Gage tells us as he plunks the helmet on his head, fastening the straps. He taps the vest over the area of his heart. "I've got my lucky green pen. The luck extends to all those nearby me," he grins. "Just ask Roy."

"Would that be BEFORE or AFTER one of his numerous hospital stays after working with you?" Reed asks.

"Yeah," I say. "They don't call you the Walking Disaster Magnet for nothing, Gage."

"You two will be safe," he assures us. "Just trust me."

"I was afraid you'd say that," I tell him, and Reed and I exchange a glance filled with unease, as the Armadillo rolls into the battle zone once more, with three cops and one bona fide walking disaster magnet aboard.

* * *

**On the rooftop, the sniper watched as the armored rig passed out of the battle zone and drove back into the safety perimeter, driving up over the sidewalk and turning into the empty lot set up for triage. After unloading the woman and her child, the medics and their equipment, the rig pulled out of the lot, stopping by the command post at Sergeant MacDonald's car. The SWAT commander, whom the sniper recognized as Sergeant Gus Baron, conferred with Sergeant MacDonald and the fire captain. He noticed that one of the paramedics had picked up a bulletproof vest and helmet, and were brandishing them, as if arguing with his superiors. Then Malloy and Reed hopped back into the Armadillo, while Gus climbed back into the driver's seat, and the rig took off again, heading back into the zone. The paramedic stared after the rig as it rolled away, then he took off at a run, dodging his fire captain and Sergeant MacDonald rather deftly. He caught up with the Armadillo just as it was crossing the perimeter, tossing the vest and helmet into the back end before throwing himself into the rig behind them. The sniper could imagine that wouldn't set well at all with any of them, but he had to give the man a bit of grudging respect. He was willing to walk into sniper fire in order to save the victims, armed only with a vest, a helmet, and his own courage. And what the sniper could not know, was that with the unlikely and rather unexpected addition of John Gage and his lucky green pen aboard the Armadillo, his own luck was about to change, and perhaps not for the better.**

_**But then again, luck is an awful lot like fate. It can be QUITE fickle at times…** _


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **ALL ORIGINAL CONTENT OF THIS STORY IS THE SOLE PROPERTY OF BAMBOOZLEPIG AND MAY NOT BE USED WITHOUT PERMISSION.** In order to enhance the overall plot experience, creative liberties may have been intentionally taken with the real-life protocols depicted herein.

**Roof of the Granite Court building**

**2:30 P.M.**

_**The sniper watched the armored rig as it rolled down the street back into the battle zone. He knew the drill they'd run through each time they exited the vehicle to rescue victims: one would lay down cover fire while the other scooped the victims up and loaded them into the rig. He figured that with Pete Malloy being the better shot, he'd always be the one to fire at the sniper in an attempt at keeping his head down, while Jim Reed would be the one to haul the victims aboard. The addition of the paramedic aboard didn't faze him, he had nothing against that man, other than if he got in the way somehow, the sniper wouldn't hesitate to take him down. In a way, he was glad the man was aboard the Armadillo, it would make the rescues down below go faster. In fact, the sniper had to admit now that he was getting a bit bored with this whole mess he'd created. Wreaking the havoc in the park was fun until the cops showed up to play hero. Now he just wished he could implement the next step of his plan. He glanced around, thinking to himself. He could go ahead and implement it now, but he wanted to wait, to savor it. For he knew that when he put the second step into motion, it was one step closer to the end, and he wanted to forestall that as long as he possibly could. Not only for himself, but also for Malloy and Reed. He wanted their suffering to continue until he decided it was time to call a halt to it. Sighing, he reached over and quickly took the rifle off of the tripod. Positioning the barrel on the edge of the parapet, he crouched down behind it, safe behind the concrete wall from any of Malloy's bullets. Sighting through the scope, he could still see to inflict fear and pain on those below, without exposing himself to Malloy's return fire. What the hell, he might as well have fun while fun was to be had.** _

* * *

Rescue operations, Granite Court area

**2:30 P.M.**

"Now you listen to me, and you listen really damned good, Gage," I growl at John Gage. "You stay inside this rig at all times. You don't get out of it at all, got it? And the minute we return to the safety of the perimeter, you're getting the hell off, am I clear?"

"But…" he begins.

I interrupt. "But nothing. I don't want to see hide nor hair of you outside of this Armadillo. This is a police matter, and you need to let the police handle it, which means Jim and I will take care of the rescue operations. We're the cops, John, not you."

"You're also not medics," he fires back. "Look, I won't get in the way of you two doing your jobs if you won't get in the way of me doing mine, and that's saving lives. You and Jim are good at what you do, I'm good at what I do. So please, let me do my job. The rescue operations will go a lot faster if there's two sets of hands helping, instead of only one."

"Pete's right," Jim says. "You're more of a liability than you are a help right now, Johnny. We can't be keeping an eye on you and on what we're doing at the same time. You need to stay in the rig."

"We've got two possibles, coming up near the parked cars!" Gus hollers at us through the portal window. "On the right!"

As the rig rolls to a stop, I glare at Gage. "Stay here," I hiss as we throw the doors open. "Got it?" I don't wait for an answer, as Jim and I hop out. Bracing myself for the recoil of the M16, I once again lay down the cover fire while Jim goes for the victims, a mother and a daughter huddled by a parked car.

"Pete!" Jim yells. "I need help! She's got a serious leg injury and can't walk!"

"Sonofa…" I begin, starting to move backwards in order to help him, but a flash of blue darting out from the back of the Armadillo stops me in my tracks. "Damn it, Gage, get back in there!" I yell at the crazy paramedic who just exited. My attention momentarily diverted, the sniper takes that opportunity to fire off a shot at us, the bullet zinging off of the plating of the Armadillo. Somehow, I think he intentionally missed us.

Johnny ignores me, scurrying around to the side of the rig to help Jim with the female victim. Between the two of them, they quickly load her into the back of the rig, then Reed turns around and grabs her little girl, handing her up to John. "Pete, let's go!" Jim yells to me.

Laying down one final burst of fire, I quickly scramble aboard, my fury at Gage unparalleled. "What in the hell did I just tell you, you damned fool?" I snarl. Then I catch sight of the frightened and injured woman and her young daughter, staring wide-eyed at all of us, and I wisely check my ire for now. They don't need to see me blow up at Gage, they've had enough fear for the time being.

"Ma'am, other than your leg, are you hurt anywhere else?" Johnny asks her gently.

She shakes her head. "No." She draws in a shuddering breath. "I just don't understand it," she says. "Melissa and I came to the park to enjoy the nice day, and out of nowhere, he started shooting at us. We couldn't even hear the shots, so we couldn't tell for certain where they were coming from. All we saw were people just dropping to the ground, injured or…or…" She hesitates, glancing at her daughter. "Anyway, I thought I could make a run for my car, but he shot me." She looks at us, her gaze questioning. "Why?" she asks. "Why would someone do that to us?"

"We don't know," Reed tells her.

"Melissa," Johnny asks the little girl softly. "Are you alright? Or are you hurt anywhere?" He starts to lay a gentle hand on her, but she shrinks away from him, huddling up next to her mother.

Her mom reaches a hand out and smoothes her hair down, a gesture of comfort to the little girl. "It's okay, sweetie," she tells her. "We're gonna be safe now, don't you worry."

"Got another possible, coming up!" Gus calls. "On the right!"

The rig halts and we throw the doors open once more, continuing what will likely become a rote task for us by the time this is all finished. I only get a couple of bursts of fire off at the sniper when Reed returns, grabbing my shoulder. He shakes his head, and we hop aboard.

"He's…" Johnny begins.

"Non-rescueable," Reed replies, casting a glance at the injured mother and her daughter. He doesn't want to say the word "dead" in front of them.

"Oh," says Johnny, nodding with understanding.

"Got two more!" Gus calls. "Two young females, crouched between the red car and the blue car on the right!"

The Armadillo halts and we swing the doors open, Reed once more going to the victims while I lay down fire. Quickly he hands two teenage girls up into the back of the rig with the help of John Gage. "Let's go!" he yells to me.

Just as I climb aboard, one of the girls gasps. "Oh!" she says. "My purse! I left my purse back there!" Before we can stop her, she opens the door and scrambles back out.

"No, miss!" Jim yells, making a grab for her, but it's too late. The sniper draws a quick bead on her and turns her white t-shirt red, right over her heart. She drops dead to the pavement, her black hair flashing out behind her.

Gage leaps from the back of the rig, landing on the pavement next to her. Jim and I are right behind him. He turns pleading eyes to us. "Help me get her aboard!" he shouts, grabbing her under her arms.

"LEAVE HER!" I yell. "She's gone, Johnny!"

"No!" he yells back, and at that moment, the sniper chooses to fire a burst of bullets over our heads, reminding us that he's still there.

"Damn it, Gage, get aboard!" Jim yells, grabbing ahold of him and shoving him towards the rig. "He's shooting at us!"

"But…" Johnny protests, trying to twist out of Jim's grasp.

"GET ABOARD!" I roar, aiming and firing at the rooftop. "NOW! BEFORE WE LEAVE YOU HERE!" Gage scrambles aboard, followed by Jim. I hop on last. I turn my fury on Gage, victims or no victims. "You goddamned stupid sonofabitch!" I yell, my anger flushing my face red. "What are you trying to do, get yourself killed, along with us?"

"Pete!" Jim hisses, shaking his head. He turns to the portal window. "Gus, we're all aboard! We can't take anymore victims, we're full up!"

"Got it!" Gus calls back. "Headed back to base!"

The Armadillo sways at it swings into the turnaround at the end of the street, and I pin John Gage down with the nastiest glare I can muster. He refuses to meet my gaze, instead, turning his attention to the teenager. "Are you hurt anywhere, miss?" he asks her.

"No," she says. "But Tracy…" She breaks down sobbing, hunching over on the side bench, covering her face with her hands. "She was my best friend," she cries softly, as Johnny tries to comfort her.

"Hey!" Gus yells. "Remember this plate: 577 Ida-Victor-Ida! It may not be anything, but I have a hunch about it!" A few seconds later, he calls out that we're back in the safety perimeter. Bumping, the Armadillo heads up over the sidewalk into the triage area.

We're greeted by Dr. Brackett, Dixie McCall, and Roy DeSoto when we open the doors. "What have you got, Johnny?" Brackett asks him.

"Gunshot wound, upper right thigh," Johnny tells him. "Looks like the bullet went all the way through." As he and Brackett scoot the woman out of the rig, Reed hands her little girl off to Dixie. Johnny nods at the little girl. "She's not hurt, neither is the other young lady," he tells them. "They're just scared."

As they set the woman onto a waiting cot, she grabs Johnny's hand. "Thank you," she says, tears rolling from her eyes. "Thank you all for saving us."

"It's not problem," Johnny assures her. "We're just doing our jobs."

As Brackett and Dixie take the victims away, Roy DeSoto glares at Gage. "Just what in the hell do you think you're doing?" he snaps at him. "Trying to get yourself killed?"

"I'm trying to save lives," Johnny tells him.

"What good are you going to do someone if you end up getting injured or killed by him?" Roy asks. "That madman isn't gonna care whether you're out there trying to play hero. He's looking for the highest toll possible, and it doesn't matter to him that you were in the field trying to save lives."

"Relax," Johnny tells him. "I'll be fine."

"No, you won't be fine," I snap. "We're taking you to the command post and you're getting off, Gage."

Gus thwacks his fist against the divider. "Let's go!" he yells. "I want to stop by the command post and give them that license plate!"

We climb back aboard and the Armadillo retraces its path down the sidewalk between Mac's car and the fence, swinging wide as Gus pulls around the back of Mac's car and up alongside of it.

Both Captain Stanley and Mac are waiting for us, their faces thundercloud stormy with anger. "Just what in the hell do you think you're trying to prove, Gage?" Stanley growls at him. "Pulling a stupid stunt like that!"

"You not only could've gotten yourself killed, but you imperiled the lives of Malloy and Reed, too, Gage," Mac tells him. "Now get down out of that rig!"

Johnny holds his hands up. "Now wait a second!" he says defensively. "I did help out there, I can assure you! When Jim had that injured lady who couldn't walk, he would've had a helluva time getting her into the rig without assistance. And Pete couldn't very well help, since he was providing cover fire. I'm tellin' you, the rescues will go a lot faster if there's two sets of hands helping, rather than one."

"No," says Stanley. "You're not a cop, Johnny. Malloy and Reed are."

"But they're not paramedics!" Johnny tells him. "I am! And what difference does it make anyway? I'm wearing a vest and a helmet, just like them! I have the same amount of protection that they do."

"It's the liability issue," Mac tells him. "You're not trained in situations like this, Gage. They are."

"And they're not trained in the medical field," Johnny retorts. "And I am." He looks at Jim. "Tell 'em, Jim. I did help you with that woman, didn't I?"

"But you also dived out of the rig after that teenager," I tell him sharply. "And if you're gonna pull foolish stunts like that, we don't need you aboard, Gage. You're more of a hindrance than you are a help."

Jim rubs his forehead. "John did help," he says tiredly. "Not only with getting the woman aboard, but also in soothing them. He is the only one of the three of us who isn't carrying a weapon. I think he's viewed as non-threatening."

I shoot him a look that warns him to consider what he just said. "You're not carrying a rifle when you get off board," I tell him. "Yours remains on the floor of the Armadillo when you get off to pull victims aboard."

"But the sight of our weapons only serves to frighten the victims more," Reed says logically. "They've already been shot at, so what do you think when they see black-suited men toting rifles coming in to save them?" Biting his lip, he shakes his head. "No, much as I hate to say this, Johnny did help us out. And I think it would be a good idea to keep him aboard the Armadillo. Like he said, two sets of hands work faster than one."

"C'mon," Johnny begs. "If you guys let me do this, I promise, I won't ask to go on another sniper run for a long time." He offers Captain Stanley and Mac a grin.

Mac and Captain Stanley exchange a look. Stanley shrugs. "It's up to you, Sergeant," he says. "We're playing by your rules, after all."

"Fine," Mac sighs. "But I'm only gonna say this once, Gage. You listen to Pete and Jim and you follow their orders  _to the letter_. And the minute you become a hazard to them out in the field, they're bringing you back here and dumping you off. Got it?"

Johnny nods. "Got it. I promise, I'll be on my best behavior."

"Hey, Mac," Gus says from the open driver's side door of the rig. "You might want to give dispatch this plate: 577 Ida-Victor-Ida. It should come back to a blue Ford pickup."

"You think it's maybe the sniper's vehicle?" Mac asks him.

Gus shrugs. "It could be. Out of all the cars in that area, it's the only one that isn't shot up. It's also the one parked closest to the Granite Court building. It may be a long shot, but I have a hunch that it might be his vehicle. I noticed tarps in the back end of it."

"Okay, I'll get it to dispatch," Mac says.

 _"One-L-20 from One-Adam-11?"_  asks Bob Brinkman over the radio.

Mac grabs up the radio mike. "This is One-L-20, go ahead," Mac tells him.

_"Mac, we've moved the perimeter back another block, but the newsies are trying to get shots of the Armadillo as it comes out of the battle zone. I think they're trying to get pictures of possible victims hanging out of the back end of the rig. Is there any way we can block that view? Some of their cameras have long-range lenses on them."_

"Hold on, Brink," Mac tells him. "Let me see what I can come up with."

"We can move Engine 51 across the intersection of Palmtree and Adamson," Captain Stanley tells him. "It may not block the complete view, but it'll sure as hell make it difficult for them to get any kind of a decent shot."

"One-Adam-14, are you experiencing anything like that on your end?" Mac asks Jerry Woods.

_"Negative, Mac. We're not really seeing a lot of news media down here on our end. And we're keeping the traffic moving along, so they don't have much of a chance to stop."_

"Okay," Mac says. "Brink, we're gonna pull Engine 51 down across the intersection up here," he says. "Hopefully that will block the view some."

 _"Roger that, Mac,"_ Brinkman replies.  _"Also, just so you know, we're starting to get some family members over here that are concerned that they might have loved ones in the park. What do you want me to do with them?"_

"Can you isolate them from the main group of bystanders and news media for now?" Mac asks.

 _"Uh…yeah, for now we can, but you're gonna have to find somewhere for them to go. The media is trying to get interviews and information from them as far as the fate of their loved ones,"_ Brinkman tells him.

Mac rubs his forehead wearily. "Sonofabitch," he mutters. "Okay, just isolate them for now and keep them away from the media and the other bystanders as best you can. I'll set up an area for them to go to when the logistics truck gets here."

 _"Roger, Mac,"_  Brinkman says.  _"We'll separate them for now until you have a location for them to go to."_

"That goes for the other units at the roadblocks," Mac says. "Adams 14, 43, and 49, if you get family members at your sites, isolate them until we have an area set up. Copy that?" And all three units radio back that they do.

"STOKER!" Captain Stanley yells at his chief engineer who is working in the triage area.

Mike Stoker comes running up. "Yeah, Cap?" he asks.

"We're gonna move Engine 51 across the intersection there," Captain Stanley tells him. "We need to try and block the view from the news media. Apparently they're trying to take pictures of the Armadillo as it exits the field."

"Got it," Stoker tells him. "I'll stay with the engine, then, and monitor the radio for you." He heads over to the engine, hopping into the cab and starting it up. With a whoosh of the air brakes, the engine slowly creeps forward, preparing to go into a U-turn.

Gus turns to us. "I didn't see any other living people near the cars parked in the lot," he tells us. "The ones that are there now are quite visibly DOA. So now the next step is getting into the park and getting those people out."

"I don't know if anyone else noticed this," I say. "But he's evidently taken the silencer off of the rifle. When he shot at us down in the street, both times I heard the shots."

"Yeah, me too," Reed says. "So he wants us to know now that he's shooting at us, he's not going for a stealth attack anymore."

"Why should he?" Gage says. "He inflicted enough intial terror on the people when he first started shooting. Now that they know they're being fired upon, he's lost that scare tactic. So it makes more sense now for him to allow the shots to be heard. People won't know who he's aiming at but they'll hear the sound of the shots."

 _"One-L-20 from Air Ten?"_  asks Jerry Walters, pilot of Air Ten.

"This is One-L-20, go ahead," Mac tells him into the mike.

_"Mac, just so you know, we took another sweep over his nest up there. It looks like he's now taken the gun off of the tripod it was mounted on, and he's got it situated on the parapet. It appears that he'll still be able to shoot, but he's pretty invincible where he's at, hiding behind the edge of the roof. I don't know that it will do you much good to return fire at him, your chances of hitting him now are pretty slim. I just thought I'd let you know."_

"Great," Mac sighs. "Okay, Jerry, just keep an eye on him, got it?"

_"Will do. I'll also keep an eye on your rescuers, and I'll let you know if anything goes wrong."_

"Thanks, Jerry," Mac tells him.

"Let's go," Gus says, watching as Engine 51 parks in the intersection. "The fire truck is in place."

"Right," I say. "Remember, Gage," I tell Johnny warningly. "You follow our command completely. You let Jim and I get out first, and you stay in that rig unless you're needed. Got it?"

"I do," he nods.

"Gus, what was that plate again?" Mac asks, taking out his notepad from his breast pocket.

"577 Ida-Victor-Ida," Gus tells him, as he climbs back into the driver's seat of the Armadillo. "Like I said, it's a long shot, but it's worth looking into. It may give us the sniper's identity."

"I'll get it to dispatch now," Mac says, picking up the mike once more. "Dispatch from One-L-20?"

_"This is dispatch, go ahead, One-L-20."_

"I need you to run a plate for me, California 577 Ida-Victor-Ida. Run it for wants and warrants. Let me know who it comes back registered to."

_"Copy, One-L-20. California 577 Ida-Victor-Ida. Stand by."_

The three of us, Reed, Gage, and I, climb into the back end of the Armadillo once more. "We're aboard," Reed tells Gus, and the rig starts up. We leave the doors open until we go back into the zone.

"Why do you do that?" Gage asks us, gesturing to the open doors. "Leave the doors open, I mean."

"To keep the air circulating," I tell him. "It gets mighty damned stuffy in here if we don't." I glance over at the fire engine parked across the intersection, the rear of it facing the Granite Court building, the cab of it facing the furniture warehouse. Mike Stoker sits in the driver's seat, the door slightly ajar, watching us as we roll past. He gives us a little salute.

"You do realize that we're going to be getting into the hellish part of the rescue operations, don't you?" Reed asks quietly.

I nod. "I do. It's not going to be easy, I can say that."

"Maybe it won't be that bad," Johnny says hopefully.

I stare at him. "Do you honestly believe that?" I ask dourly.

He is silent a moment, staring at the floor of the Armadillo. "No," he says softly. "I think it's gonna be worse."

"We're in the zone!" Gus calls. "Headed for the park!"

Mutely, Reed and I swing the doors mostly shut, while John Gage continues to study the floor.

* * *

Rooftop of the Granite Court building

**2:50 P.M.**

_**The sniper watched as the Armadillo left the battle zone once more, returning to the triage area to unload its victims. He smiled to himself as he thought of how he kept the heads of Malloy and Reed, along with the medic, down as he shot at them. He was careful to aim over their helmets, just a little reminder that he was still there and still capable of killing any of them in a heartbeat. And he drove that message home when the teenage girl leaped out of the back of the rig and right into his line of sight. It was just too easy, TOO EASY, to pull the trigger on the little bitch and drop her where she was at. Stupid girl, she should've stayed in the back of the rig. And then he almost blew the medic away, when he scrambled out after her, but the sniper held his fire at the last minute. Good thing for the medic, he mused. Otherwise, he'd have been killed where he was at, too. And the gunman congratulated himself on his supreme self-control. He could have killed all three rescuers, but he didn't. He wanted them to stay alive for now, so they'd witness his plan in action.** _

_**He heard the hiss of air brakes and noticed the fire engine pulling forward, swinging into a slow U-turn in the intersection. He rubbed at a bead of sweat that rolled down his forehead as he studied the engine rolling slowly forward. He'd overheard the exchange between one of the squad cars at the roadblock concerning the media trying to get pictures of the Armadillo as it exited the field. He knew this was their way of attempting to block the media's view, by pulling the fire engine across the way. The engine swung gracefully into place, the rear facing the sniper, while the front cab faced the triage area. The firefighter driving the engine stayed with it, leaving the door open a bit. He shrugged. Well, he'd deal with that later, he told himself as he watched the Armadillo chugging back into the battle zone.** _

_**Then he froze, as he heard the radio transmission from Sergeant MacDonald to dispatch, reading off the plate of his rental truck. "Oh, shit," he muttered to himself, as he realized he'd forgotten to remove the plates from the truck this morning when he was unloading his gear. And then he should have moved the truck into the nearby parking ramp after unloading it. He prayed feverently that his identity wouldn't be revealed just yet. Only he would decide when to make his identity known, and not before then. A wave of anger at his own stupiditywashed over him, and he waited as the Armadillo bumped over the sidewalk around the park, and swung into the wide entrance. Sighting through the scope, he tightened his finger on the trigger. He'd overheard Air Ten's report that he'd taken the rifle off of the tripod and had it tucked down below the parapet. And in doing that, it didn't make him any less dangerous. Self-control or no, he intended now to let them know he meant business. Licking his lips, he waited.** _

* * *

Command post, Palmtree and Adamson

**2:50 P.M.**

_"One-L-20 from dispatch?"_

_"This is One-L-20, go ahead, dispatch."_

_"Confirming the plate that you gave me, California 577 Ida-Victor-Ida, is that correct?"_

_"Roger, dispatch."_

_"That plate comes back to a 1975 blue Ford pickup, registered to Pacific Coast Leasing, 1959 Ventura Boulevard."_

_"Contact the leasing company and find out who they've rented that vehicle today."_

_"Roger, One-L-20, stand by."_

_"One-L-20, standing by."_

_"One-L-20, I am not able to make contact with anyone at that leasing agency at this time. I'll keep trying. You should also be made aware that we are receiving calls in the dispatch room from worried family members and friends, and also members of the media. How do you wish me to advise the dispatchers to handle it?"_

_"Dispatch, has the Captain made any sort of command order as far as releasing information to the media?"_

_"Negative, One-L-20. He is still in conference with the Chief and the Mayor."_

_"Uh…okay, go ahead and release to the media, under my authority, that we have confirmed that we are dealing with a sniper situation in the Granite Court and Granite Park areas, but we are not releasing any further information in regards to injuries or fatalities, as the situation is ongoing. Inform the dispatchers to say the same thing to anyone who calls wanting information."_

_"Roger, One-L-20. I'll release that statement to the media."_

* * *

…WE INTERRUPT THIS BROADCAST TO BRING YOU AN UPDATE ON THE SITUATION IN THE GRANITE COURT AND GRANITE PARK AREAS. THE LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT HAS NOW CONFIRMED THAT THEY ARE INDEED DEALING WITH A SNIPER SITUATION IN THAT AREA. WE HAVE NO WORD YET ON ANY INJURIES OR FATALITIES, AS THE SITUATION IS CURRENTLY ONGOING. WE GO NOW TO OUR ACTION FIVE NEWS REPORTER ON THE SCENE IN THE VICINITY OF THE GRANITE COURT AREA, CHRISTOPHER ENGLAND. CHRIS, WHAT CAN YOU TELL US SO FAR?

" _Well, Bob, as you can see we aren't being allowed very close to the scene right now; in fact, we're on the corner of Mapletree Drive and Adamson Avenue, approximately two blocks to the west of the actual incident itself. Our Action Five Newscopter was able to make one pass over the area, including Granite Park and the Granite Court building, where the sniper is apparently holed up on the roof. Unfortunately, the news chopper was ordered out of the area by authorities for fear that it might interfere with their police chopper, which has maintained a steady circling perimeter of the area. Before it was ordered out, though, the news crew aboard was able to get some dramatic footage of what appears to be multiple injuries and fatalities in the park and on the street below the Granite Court building. We hope to have that footage available shortly. In the meantime, I can report seeing what appears to be an armored car of some sort that has gone into the Granite Court area at least twice now, since we've been here. We're not sure what the purpose of the armored car is, other than to possibly remove victims safely from the scene. We understand that there's been a triage area set up nearby to care for any injured victims that are pulled out of the scene. For now, we haven't heard any exact numbers of possible injuries or deaths from this incident, but one bystander reported hearing that the toll as far as casualties was, and I quote, "a lot." We're going to throw it back to you, Bob, at the newsdesk, until we have further information to pass along. This is Christopher England, reporting live from the corner of Mapletree Drive and Adamson Avenue._

THANK YOU FOR THAT LIVE REPORT, CHRISTOPHER. ONCE AGAIN, THE LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT HAS NOW CONFIRMED THAT THEY ARE DEALING WITH A SNIPER SITUATION IN THE GRANITE COURT AND GRANITE PARK AREAS. THEY HAVE REFUSED TO CONFIRM ANY INJURIES OR FATALITIES AT THIS TIME. WE WILL CONTINUE TO FOLLOW THIS BREAKING STORY AS IT DEVELOPS, AND INTERRUPT THE BROADCAST AS NEEDED WITH UPDATES AS SOON AS THEY BECOME AVAILABLE. WE NOW RETURN YOU TO REGULAR PROGRAMMING…

* * *

**Rescue operations, Granite Court Park**

**3:00 P.M.**

"Let's try and get as many victims on board the rig as we can," I tell Reed and Gage. "These people have been pinned in out here since noon, and I'm sure they're getting anxious."

"Gee, ya THINK?" Johnny asks sarcastically.

I shoot him a dirty look. "Get 'em aboard as fast as you can," I say. "Never mind their comfort for now. Our goal is to get them the hell out of there and to the triage area. You let Jim and I exit first, then you get out and try to stay between us," I tell him. "That'll minimize your risk of getting hit."

"We've got kids comin' up, on the left!" Gus calls to us. "I think it's the preschool group! Looks like about eight kids, two teachers! I'm gonna swing around to the right of them and try to protect them from fire! Be ready to move on my command!" And a moment later, he yells "GO!"

Reed jumps out first, followed by me, with Gage hopping out last, shielding himself between Jim and I. Even though I know it won't do any good, I fire a burst from the rifle at the building's roof. I can see the glint of the sun off of the sonofabitch's scope, and I know he's up there just waiting for an opportune moment to pick us off. I start to squeeze the trigger once more and the rifle clicks empty. Damn it!

And then it becomes pandemonium as all hell breaks loose. The little preschool kids are screaming and shrieking, and one of the female teachers darts around Jim and Johnny to fling herself into the back of the rig, unassisted. "PETE!" Jim yells to me. "We need your help!" Tossing the rifle into the back of the Armadillo, I hurry around the edge of the rig to help. I freeze momentarily in shock when I see what lies before me on the emerald green grass of the park. It's like a gruesome slide show, clicking rapidly through my head, images and sounds and smells that even to this day, I can recall with frighteningly vivid intensity.

One of the teachers lies dead, her eyes wide open and staring at the clear blue sky overhead, her throat a mass of blood. A reddish froth has surged out past her lips and drained down her cheeks. The remaining teacher still on the ground holds her arm by her side, tissue and splintered bone poking up through the skin from a bullet wound to her forearm. Gage grabs ahold of her under her arms and swings her to her feet, rapidly moving her to the Armadillo. He helps her inside, then he returns. "Form a chain!" he yells. "One of you get into the rig and we'll start handing kids off to you!" In the heat and the terror of the moment, he, along with Reed and I, have forgotten the warning for him to stay between Jim and I in order to keep him safe.

"I'll do it," I say, scrambling up into the back end of the rig. Jim hands me a little blonde girl, wearing a pink flowered sundress spattered with blood. She appears unhurt, so I plunk her at the back of the Armadillo, reaching my hands out for another kid. Johnny hands me up a little dark-haired boy in a sailor suit, an oozing bullet wound in his tiny leg. Inwardly wincing, I lay the little boy down as gently as I possibly can, then I turn back for another one, this time getting another little boy with a wound to his stomach and blood bubbling from his lips. Another child, a little girl with brunette hair in pigtails, with a bullet wound to her back, the injury a mass of tissue and gore, twitches convulsively in my arms as I gently set her down. And on and on it goes, with injured and frightened children being handed up to me, some with such serious injuries that I'll be surprised if they make it to the triage area alive. I feel like I'm loading a grotesque clown car, and my stomach rolls violently as I try not to focus on the injuries of the children. I faintly realize I'm getting their blood all over my hands, but I ignore it, continuing to take children aboard the rig like an automaton. The back of the Armadillo is getting cramped and crowded with small children huddled on the floor and benches of the rig. "Can you take a couple of kids in the front?" I yell to Gus.

"Yeah," he yells back. "Tell 'em to stash 'em in the front if you're running out of room back there!"

"Put 'em in the front with Gus," I tell Gage as he starts to hand me up another child. "We're not gonna have enough room for us back here otherwise."

Gage nods, hurrying around the passenger side of the Armadillo to put a kid in the front with Gus. I see him place two more little ones in the seat next to Gus, then he comes around the back of the rig and climbs aboard. Reed is right behind him, a grievously injured little girl cuddled gently in his arms. Her right shoulder is torn to shreds and just barely hanging on by tissue and sinew. Reed is looking down at her, speaking softly to her, trying to soothe her, the tenderness for this wee child quite evident on his face; and then there is the sharp report of the sniper's rifle and in an instant, the little girl's head is completely gone in a mist of red and grey and white, and Reed drops to the ground on his knees with a sharp gasp.

I leap out, fearing the absolute worst. "Are you hit?" I ask, fear coursing mightily through my veins.

He looks up at me, his eyes wide and terror-stricken. He doesn't answer me, he just cradles the headless body of the little girl in his arms. Her brains and blood blossom like a gruesome boutenniere on the black of his coveralls and vest.

"Jim!" I yell, trying to get his attention. "Are you hit?"

Mutely, he shakes his head.

"Then get up and let's go!" I yell. "We're loaded and ready to run!"

He stares down at the body lying limp in his arms, then he turns his gaze skyward, and in that instant I know that he hates God right now for what has happened, as he holds the tiny body before him like a sacrificial lamb slain for a bloodthirsty devil. And I don't know that he'll ever be able to forgive God, because I know myself I can't right now.

"Jim," I tell him, gripping his shoulder. "Lay her down and get aboard."

"No," he says, shooting me such a look of hostility that I drop my hand from his shoulder. "I won't leave her here. She's coming aboard the rig with us."

"She's DEAD!" I tell him sharply, trying to get him to take command of his senses. "Jim, lay her down on the ground and leave her there!" And just as I say that, the sniper zings off another shot over our heads, just to let us know he's still thinking of us. I know I will have to act in order to get Jim to comply with my orders, so brusquely I grab his hands and force him to let go of the tiny girl. I lay her headless ragdoll body as gently as I can on the ground, then I grab ahold of him and haul him to his feet. Shoving him hard in front of me, I nearly heave him into the back of the rig by his vest. "Get in there, damn it!" I yelp at him, as yet another shot whizzes past us.

John Gage reaches out and grabs Jim by the front of his vest, hauling him aboard, while I push from the back. Jim's reluctance to leave the little girl behind is understandable, but he can't think of that now; none of us can think of that now. Our main concern is for the living, and that's the ones loaded already into the back of the rig. In retrospect, that way of thinking sounds callous and cruel, inhumane even, but I've got to think of those that can be saved right now. For once, I'm mighty damned grateful Gage is aboard the Armadillo, as between the two of us, we get my partner aboard. Once Jim is in the back, I hop on myself, trying to swing the doors shut as best I can. "Let's roll!" Johnny yells to Gus, and the rig takes off with a lurch.

And what hell I thought was before me on the emerald grass of the park is nothing compared to the hell that is before me in the back end of that stifling hot Armadillo. The uninjured preschool teacher has balled herself up in a corner, rocking back and forth, staring wide-eyed at nothing. The other teacher, the one with the injured arm, droops her head down to her chest. And then there's the children; the injured, the uninjured, all of them thoroughly frightened out of their wits. The screaming and shrieking they were doing when we first pulled up next to them has stopped, replaced by a soft muted whimpering, like a carload of whipped and beaten puppies. Their little faces are wide-eyed and pale, tear and snot-streaked and spattered with blood, their clothes flecked with blood and vomit. They all have that thousand-yard stare, the untold horror they experienced in the park still ongoing for them, and those stares spook the hell out of me. I've seen adults with that look on their faces, but never kids. Suddenly, one little girl sitting on the bench next to an injured classmate leans forward and vomits, a thin dribble puddling on the metal floor of the rig. The air in the back is thick with the smell of coppery blood and sour puke, shit and the sharp ammonia reek of urine. Fear has made these poor kids lose control of their bodily functions. Rubbing a hand across my nose and suppressing a gag, I cast a glance at my two compatriots.

Reed is across from me, his hand against the roof of the Armadillo, supporting himself as the rig bounces and jounces across the park. In the murky gloomy light of the Armadillo, he catches my eye, then he looks away, setting his mouth in a grim line. I know he's pissed that I wouldn't allow him to bring the dead girl aboard, but I can't deal with Reed's emotions right now. I'm having a hard enough time dealing with my own. I glance over at Johnny, who is sitting on the bench, cradling the little boy with the stomach injury. He talks soothingly and gently to the little boy, and to all the little kids in general, telling them that they're safe now, that no one is going to hurt them, that they'll be able to see their mommies and daddies very shortly. I don't know if they can understand him, realize that they're no longer in danger, but if there's anyone who can soothe a frightened and injured child, it's John Gage. I'm glad he's the one talking to them. He feels my gaze upon him, and he looks up briefly at me, a spark of something in his eyes…compassion, sorrow, regret, anger?...I cannot tell, and he looks back down at the children clustered in the rig before I can figure it out.

The ride out of the battle zone into the safety zone seems to last a lifetime. I know that Gus is taking it as easy as he can over the bumps, but the rig rocks and sways, and my stomach lurches more than once, until I nearly vomit on the floor myself. I want the ride to be over as soon as possible, so that we can unload these wounded and frightened kids into the waiting arms of the doctors and nurses, ones who can give them better help than we ever can. Sweat rolls down my face and I swipe at it, my hands smelling of gunpowder and metal and fear and blood. None of us speak to the other that whole trip back to base, and not even Gus calls out that we're at triage, the rig just rolls to a stop and the back doors open to the view of the doctors.

And that's where Gage springs into action. He hands off the little boy he's cradling to Dr. Brackett. "Gunshot wound to the abdomen," he tells him. "We've got more criticals in here, most of them kids." As Brackett lays the little boy onto a cot, Johnny has picked up another child, the little girl with the back injury. "She's got a bullet wound to the back," he says, handing her gently to Dr. Morton. He gives Jim and I a glance, and I realize with a start that I've been watching him work without helping him myself.

I pick up a little girl, who quivers violently in my arms, the dress she's wearing soaked in her own urine. She has no injuries that I can see, so I hand her to paramedic Craig Brice, who takes her with a look of abject distaste upon his face. "No injuries," I tell him. "Just scared out of her wits." He glances at me, sour recognition crossing his face, as he remembers that we met once before on a chilly October night when my partner's life was in peril, and he and I clashed over his high and mighty attitude.

Johnny has handed out another child, another little girl, this one with a grazing wound to her head. "Just a minor head laceration," he tells Dixie McCall as he gives her the wide-eyed child.

Silently, Jim jumps down from the back of the rig and disappears around the passenger side of it. I think that he's going to unload the kids that rode up front with Gus, but when I peek my head around the corner, I see that Gus is unloading the kids himself, handing them off to waiting medics or orderlies. I cannot tend to my partner now, I must continue to remove the wounded and frightened children from the Armadillo.

I gently tug the preschool teacher who is still huddled in the back of the rig to her feet. "Come, miss," I tell her softly. "We're back in the safe zone." I help her step out of the rig to the grass below, and without warning, she hauls off and slaps me, her palm striking my cheek sharply, the sound echoing like a rifle shot. Stunned, I stare at her for a moment, then she spits on me, on my vest. Hatred and anger and vitriol fill her eyes as she is led away by one of the other paramedics, her gaze never leaving mine as she leaves. I know it's not me that she hates right now, it's the man on the roof who so callously put a crimp in her ordinary life by opening fire on innocent civilians; but still, her displaced emotions and reactions shock me.

Gage hands the last little boy left in the Armadillo to Roy DeSoto. "Be careful with him," he tells Roy. "He's got a bullet wound really close to his spine."

Roy lays the little boy gently on the cot, watching as two orderlies roll the cot away to the triage spot. Roy turns back once to his partner. "Are you sure you want to stay on board that rig and help out?" he asks.

Johnny hesitates a moment. "No," he says finally. "But I will. I'm needed out there in the field right now. That's where I do my best good at."

Roy studies him for a moment, his face a worried frown. "Just make sure you come back breathing and in one piece, okay, Junior? I don't wanna be paired up with Brice again."

Johnny quirks that crooked grin, but there is no humor in it. "Got it, Pally," he tells Roy. "Pete and Jim are keeping me safe." He looks back at the floor of the Armadillo, which is splashed with various bodily fluids. "I'm gonna go grab a towel," he tells me. "See if I can wipe some of that up. Otherwise, on the next run, we'll be slipping and sliding around in it."

While he goes to get a towel, I hunt for Jim Reed. I find him, standing a-ways away from the armored rig, hunched over and vomiting quietly into the grass. I hesitate, unsure whether or not to approach him. I'm not sure he'd be happy knowing I just witnessed him getting sick. But my concern for him outweighs any concern I might have for his embarassment, and I come up behind him, laying a hand on his back. "You okay?" I ask softly.

Grimacing, he spits onto the ground, wiping his mouth on the relatively untouched sleeve of his coveralls. Wordlessly, he turns his eyes to me, blue eyes that look as haunted as I know my own must look. "That…" he whispers hoarsely. "That was horrible, Pete. Absolutely horrible. Those…those poor kids. Frightened out of their wits. They didn't know what was happening to them. Not at all. And how do you explain it to them after it's all said and done?"

"You find a way somehow, I guess," I tell him. "You'd put it in as simple of terms as you possibly could, so that they'd hopefully understand it."

"But how are THEY supposed to understand it when I don't understand it?" he asks, anger tingeing his voice.

"I don't know, Jim," I say, for lack of a better response. He's right; how the hell do we explain what has happened out here to others, when we don't understand it ourselves?

He shakes his head. "You don't get it, Pete. You don't have kids of your own. I do. How would I explain something like this to Jimmy?"

"With any luck, you'll never have to," I tell him.

"Yeah, luck," he snorts bitterly. "Luck. Always the goddamned luck." He gestures to his coveralls, which are splashed with various forms of bodily fluids. "Look at me," he says. "I'm wearing the blood of innocents on me." He holds his hands up, his palms streaked with red. "It's their blood on my hands, Pete."

I hold my hands up for him to see. "It's on mine, too, Jim, and on Johnny's. It's not just on yours."

We hear the sharp report of the sniper's rifle from the rooftop, the sound echoing across the way. Both of us freeze for a moment.

"Sonofabitch," Jim mutters. "The bastard is still shooting. You'd think he'd get tired." He looks at me. "Pete, do I have to go back into the zone?" he asks, his voice quavering a bit. "I'm not afraid of getting hit by him, but I don't want to see anymore of what I've already seen."

I shake my head. "No, I can have Mac call over Vince Howard from the roadblock. He's a member of county's SWAT team, so he can suit up and ride in with us."

"You're going back in?" he asks.

I nod. "I have to, Jim. Those people in the park are depending on us to get them out of there. I have no choice."

"Then I don't either," he sighs. "I won't let you go in alone, Pete. I told you I'd do it, and I'll stick to my word."

"If it's bothering you, Jim, don't do it," I tell him gently. "Vince can go in just as well as you can."

"But Vince isn't me," he tells me grimly. "He's not the one to keep you safe, Pete. I am. And if something would happen to you while you went in with Vince, I'd never forgive myself."

"I hate to tell you this," I tell him with a faint smile. "But you're NOT my guardian angel, Reed. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself in the field."

He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, right now I don't believe in God, let alone angels. So I'll go in." He opens his eyes, fixing me with a hard gaze. "Doesn't it bother you at all, Pete? What we're seeing out there?"

"Yeah," I say, starting to walk back towards the Armadillo. "But I'm putting it out of my mind for now. I'm focusing in on the victims that need our help, instead of what I'm witnessing out there."

"You know," he says, following behind me. "I wish I could be like you, Pete. Cool and unemotional under fire. You never seem to let things get to you at all." His voice is sharp with bitterness. "You're like a robot out there."

Slightly stung, I turn to face him. "It's not exactly an admirable trait to have, Reed," I remind him. "Seeing as how I've handled some of the stressful incidents in the past."

"I didn't mean it that way, Pete," he tells me. "It's just…oh hell, forget it," he says, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Gus is waiting for us back at the rig. "Are you two through with your heart-to-heart out there?" he asks, somewhat snidely. "We're ready to roll again."

"Yeah," I say, noting Reed as he represses a shudder and fails. We go around to the back of the rig, where John is seated on one of the benches, his head cupped in his hands.

He doesn't look up as we climb in. "This is horrid," he says quietly. "I've seen a lot of bad cases before, but nothing like this. And it's only going to get worse."

I replace the spent clip on my rifle with a fresh one. "It'll be over soon," I tell him, as the Armadillo starts up once more.

"Not soon enough," he says, staring at the semi-clean metal floor. "Not soon enough."

And all three of us fall silent then, lost in our own thoughts, the only sound the rumbling of the Armadillo's engine as we ride once more into that awful valley of the shadow of death.

* * *

Roof of the Granite Court building

**3:30 P.M.**

_**The sniper witnessed the frantic rescue operations of the preschool kids and their teachers through the scope of his rifle. He saw Malloy lay down his weapon in order to assist Reed and the paramedic in loading the kids aboard the rig. He fired a shot at them, not intending to hit any of them, but just to let them know he hadn't forgotten about them. Then, he spotted a primo move by Reed that he just couldn't resist. Reed had a little girl in his arms, one of the last kids to be loaded up, and as he slightly shifted his weight to place her into the Armadillo, her head lolled over his arm and the sniper squeezed the trigger, blowing her head off of her neck rather cleanly. Reed dropped to the ground, the little girl still clutched in his arms, and the sniper frowned, worried that he'd hit him, but Malloy quickly hopped out and by his movements, the sniper surmised that Reed was okay, just stunned. He watched Malloy arguing with his partner, evidently to lay the dead body down, and finally Malloy was forced to remove the girl's limp form from Reed's arms and lay her down himself. He hauled Reed to his feet and shoved him into the back of the rig, while the sniper fired casually over their heads. As the rig bumped over the grass of the park, the sniper saw several of the victims gazing at the Armadillo like it was the Second Coming of Jesus Christ himself. He studied them through the scope of the rifle, as he heard the Tac2 transmission over his scanner regarding the plate on his rental truck. Then he heard the further news bulletin on his transistor radio regarding the fact that the situation was now confirmed as a sniper attack. It was only a matter of time now, before they found out who he was. He needed to act fast, to finish up phase one of his attack and implement phase two. He zoned in on the elderly couple huddled by their wooden park bench, and he fired off two rounds, catching both of them in their white-haired skulls and pitching them forward in an explosion of blood and brains. He zoned in on the groundskeeper in the pavilion next, firing a shot into that man's chest, killing him. He continued to pick and choose among the victims in the park, leaving more dead than alive now. For while patience is a virtue, he was impatient now, to advance the rest of his attack. Still, though, he left a few live people in the park, just so Malloy and Reed wouldn't be completely useless. Yeah, he thought, smiling to himself. Completely useless. And that's exactly what they'd be when he got through with all of this.** _

* * *

**Command Post, Palmtree and Adamson**

**3: 35 P.M.**

_"One-L-20 from dispatch?"_

_"This is One-L-20, go ahead dispatch."_

_"I've made contact with an agent at the leasing company. However, they are refusing to divulge the name of the person who rented that vehicle in the last twenty-four hours, unless we have a court order."_

_"Sonofabitch! Dispatch, did you tell the idiots that this is a very important police matter, and we need to know right away who they rented that damned truck to? We don't need a court order when people's lives are at stake!"_

_"Yes, One-L-20, I did. I still have them on the phone line if you have any further message for them."_

_"You tell the little bastards that either they tell us who they rented that truck to, or we'll place them under arrest, for interference. And I will PERSONALLY wring their necks for them."_

_"Roger, One-L-20, I'll pass that along and see if they want to cooperate."_

_"One-L-20 from One-Adam-43?"_

_"Go ahead Wells, this is Mac."_

_"Mac, both the logistics truck and the contractor for the Granite Court building have arrived at our roadblock. We've ID'd the contractor as Mike Hanson. Where do you want us to tell him to meet you at?"_

_"Tell him and the logistics truck to pull in behind my vehicle for now. Wave the logistics truck through first, then the contractor."_

_"Roger, Mac, they're on their way now."_

_"One-L-20, Pacific Coast Leasing has decided to play nice with us after the threat of jail and neck-wringing. I can give you the name of the individual who rented the truck at 3:30 yesterday afternoon, renting it for seventy-two hours use."_

_"Go ahead, dispatch, I'm ready to copy."_

_"The name given to the leasing agent and verified by a picture driver's license is…KKKSHHYYYYKKK…"_

_"Dispatch, could you repeat that? Your transmission was broken up. All I copied was static."_

_"Roger, One-L-20. The name of the individual who rented that vehicle from Pacific Coast Leasing is…KKKSHHYYYKK…"_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **ALL ORIGINAL CONTENT OF THIS STORY IS THE SOLE PROPERTY OF BAMBOOZLEPIG AND MAY NOT BE USED WITHOUT PERMISSION.** In order to enhance the overall plot experience, creative liberties may have been intentionally taken with the real-life protocols depicted herein.

**Rescue operations, Granite Park**

**3:35 P.M.**

"We're back in the zone!" Gus calls to us.

"We're back in Hell, you mean," John Gage mutters, rubbing his forehead.

"You chose to make the trip, Gage," I remind him.

"Since it won't make a damn bit of difference if we lay down cover fire at the bastard now, with him tucked down behind the edge of the roof, this is what I'm gonna do," Gus calls through the portal window. "I'm gonna enter the park to the right, and we'll go along the perimeter. When I come across possibles, I'll stop the rig and let you three out. Spread out and cover as much ground as you can and check as many victims as you can. Remember, leave them if they're dead or obviously near death. Concentrate on the living ones, got it?"

"That's gonna be a little difficult for me to do," Gage says, his voice slightly tinged with dismay. "I'm not trained to leave behind anyone who might still be alive, no matter how slim their chances are at making it to the triage area."

"You're gonna have to," I tell him sharply. "This isn't your ordinary rescue from a burning building or a car wreck, Gage. Our time out in the field now is critical. If they're obviously breathing their last breath, they need to be left where they are. It's not going to do us any good to haul a deceased victim in on the rig, when we can use the space and time to haul living victims in instead."

"But…" he begins to protest.

I cut him off with a shake of my head. "No buts, Gage. You agreed to play by our rules when you stashed yourself aboard the Armadillo in the first place. You don't like it, then when we hit triage after this run, you stay there. You can play hero there all you want."

"It's not a matter of my playing hero, Malloy," Gage snaps. "It's a matter of ethics. You just don't leave someone to die like that."

"Ethics flew out the window when he started mowing people down this afternoon," I tell him. "Sure, it would be nice if we could save all the people in the park, but we can't."

"That's a very callous and cruel way to look at it, Pete," Gage says.

"Maybe so, but it's the only way we can operate right now," I say. "Our goal is to get in, get the viable ones out, leave the rest to be tagged by the homicide teams. We're gonna start losing our light here in the next couple of hours, and I can tell you, rescues like this aren't going to go easy after dark. We can't exactly bring in lighting trucks to illuminate the park. He'll shoot them out."

"How are you gonna get him off the building then, without lighting?" he asks.

I rub my forehead. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." I cast a glance over at Jim Reed, who has been completely silent throughout this whole exchange. "Hey, Jim, you okay?" I ask him with concern.

He is staring blankly at the ridged metal floor beneath our feet, his eyes like chips of ice. He bites his lip, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing the spot where his wedding ring usually sits. The little girl's blood and brains still decorate his vest, starting to dry in a gruesome splash of red and grey; he didn't get a chance to wipe them off when we were in triage. He looks as if he didn't even hear what I just said to him.

I nudge him with my foot. "Are you okay?" I ask him, a bit sharper this time.

His eyes skim hauntingly across our faces, then he returns his gaze to the floor. "I'm fine," he says, his voice dull. "Just dandy. I'm only wearing the brains of a child on my vest."

"You couldn't have helped what happened to her," I tell him. "He shot her before you could even react."

He looks up at me, his mouth set in a grim line. "It's cold comfort, Pete. I keep feeling her body jerk in my arms as his bullet rips her head off and splatters it all over my vest."

"Look, when we get back to triage, I'm having Mac call over Vince Howard," I tell him. "I'll have him suit up and ride the rest of the operations out with us."

Reed sighs, wiping sweat from his face with the back of his hand. "Really, I'm fine, Pete. Besides, the damage is already done."

I don't get a chance to ask him what he means by that, because Gus calls out that he's spotted three wounded teenagers by the stone wall. The Armadillo sways to a stop and we hop out.

One of the teenagers, a boy, has been shot in the leg and the shoulder. "Oh my God," he moans as Gage grabs ahold of him. "I tried to make a run for it, but he shot me." He gestures to a bloody swath in the grass behind him. "I had to drag myself out of his line of fire. I figured there was safety behind the wall."

"Take it easy," Gage tells him as he helps him into the rig. "We're gonna get you out of here."

Reed is helping a pretty blonde teenager to her feet. She doesn't appear injured, just dazed. "Cindy," she says to me, gesturing to a girl lying on the ground. "Cindy needs help." Reed assists her into the back of the Armadillo.

I kneel down by the prone form of Cindy. Her eyes are sightless and staring at the sky overhead, but I feel for a pulse anyway. Finding none, I straighten up, shaking my head. I climb back aboard the rig. "No use," I mutter to Gage. "She's gone." And at that, the girl starts weeping, the injured boy trying to comfort her.

Reed raps the side of the vehicle to let Gus know we're ready to roll again, and the Armadillo sets off across the grass to the next set of victims. They turn out to be an elderly couple, and Reed and I get out to check on them. They're behind an overturned park bench, a spilled bag of bread crumbs for the birds on the ground between them. Both of them are dead, shot in the head. There's no reason for us to even check them for pulses, it's obvious that they died instantly. And Reed hesitates for a moment before he turns and follows me back to the rig. His eyes meet mine briefly, then he looks away, as he raps on the side of the rig to let Gus know we're aboard. I know that what he saw bothers him. "Did you see that, Pete?" he quietly asks me as the Armadillo sets off across the grass once more.

"I did," I tell him. "Best not to think of it right now."

"See what?" Gage asks.

"That elderly couple died holding each other's hands," Reed says. "I wonder how long they were married."

"I dunno, partner," I tell him.

"Sure wish I knew the secret to a long and lasting marriage," he says bitterly. "Maybe it'd help Jean and I." He rubs his ring finger again. "Then again, maybe divorce is the best thing for us after all."

Johnny studies him. "You two having…" he begins.

I nudge him sharply, shaking my head. "Not now, Gage," I tell him.

The rig stops once more and we get out, this time finding two businessmen cowering behind an overturned picnic table. Reed and I get out and approach them, but one man is already on his feet, dragging the other one up with him. "This is an outrage!" he snaps, shaking with anger. "You people have taken forever to get into this park and begin rescue operations!"

"Larry, just let it go," the other businessman tells him, moving rapidly towards the Armadillo.

"You'll be hearing from my lawyer!" the other man threatens, and at that exact moment, the sniper fires off a shot. Letting out a screech of pain, the businessman clutches at his shoulder. "He got me!" he intones dramatically, like he's trying out for a part in a really bad Western. Reed and I quickly grab ahold of him and hoist him into the back of the rig. "He got me," he bellows again.

"Let me take a look at it," Johnny tells him.

The man removes his hand to reveal nothing more than a deep grazing scratch on his shoulder. "See?" he snaps. "Shot me right in the shoulder! I may lose function of this arm. I intend to sue the Los Angeles Police Department for neglience!" He glares at all three of us.

"It's nothing more than a scratch, sir," Johnny tells him, rolling his eyes. "But if you want, we can return you to your spot behind the picnic table. It'll give you more time to think up other charges you can sue us on. That is, if the sniper doesn't decide to end your happy little lawsuit fantasies by driving a bullet through your brain." And with that, the businessman shuts up.

The rig is back in motion. "I see two more victims," Gus calls. "I can take them up in the front with me if needed!"

The Armadillo stops and the three of us get out. The victims are a couple of college kids, both boys. One is lying on the ground next to the other kid, his hands trying to covering a gaping wound in the other boy's stomach. A hacky-sack lies discarded next to them, along with an overturned philosophy textbook. "You gotta help Andy," he says, raising his head from the grass to look at us. "He's hurt bad."

Gage kneels next to the injured kid while Reed helps the other one to his feet, hustling him to the passenger side of the rig. The injury in the kid's abdomen has bled profusely, and with a grimace, I notice what appears to be intestines showing through the wound. "He's still got a pulse," Gage tells me. "Weak and thready, but it's there." He grabs the kid under the armpits, nodding for me to grab his feet. "Let's get him aboard."

"But is he going to remain alive long enough for transport?" I ask.

Gage flashes me a look of anger. "Just help me get him aboard, okay? If he's still got a pulse, he can still make it."

Reluctantly grabbing the kid's feet, I help Johnny haul him over to the Armadillo, where Jim waits to help us load him up. I notice that the uninjured businessman has climbed into the front of the rig, along with the other college kid, in order to make room in the back of the bus. We slide the injured kid across the metal floor, his head bumping on the ridges. Johnny climbs in next, followed by me. I swing the doors mostly shut, while Reed smacks the side of the rig to let Gus know we're loaded up. "C'mon, kid," Johnny tells the injured boy. "Fight, damn it," he urges in a low tone. Gasping, red froth foaming at his lips, the college kid twitches once, then twice on the metal floor. He lets out a low groan, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, and then he's gone, his soul leaving his body to twitch one last time on that hard metal floor of the rig. And then there is no sound, other than the teenage girl screaming in horror, her shrieks echoing off of the sides of the Armadillo as she realizes that she's staring at death in front of her very eyes.

* * *

Rooftop of the Granite Court building

**3:50 P.M.**

_**The sniper watched the Armadillo as it unloaded its gruesome cargo of injured preschoolers in the triage area. He heard the thup-thup-thup of a medevac chopper warming up, then he heard the bird take off, while another one landed in its place. Grabbing the binoculars, he zoomed in on Jim Reed as the man hunched over in the grass a-ways away from the rig, vomiting. He spotted Pete Malloy coming to his partner's aid and the sniper scowled. That's what they ALWAYS did, he thought to himself. Reed and Malloy watched out for one another, always having the other's back, no matter what. And that was one of the things he hated about the two of them; how they were not only patrol partners, but friends off-duty, too. Both of them were solid, upstanding citizens, something the sniper could not honorably say about himself. He shook his head as they returned to the Armadillo in order to head back into the field.** _

_**Just as the sniper was about to lower the binoculars, he caught sight of a white panel truck pulling in behind Sergeant MacDonald's station wagon. Behind it was a white Chevy pickup. A pair of uniformed cops got out of the panel truck, LAPD emblazoned on the side of it. The logistics truck, he figured. He watched to see who got out of the pickup, drawing in a sharp breath as he realized who the man was that was approaching Sergeant MacDonald. It was Mike Hanson, his boss…or former boss, since the killer had been fired two weeks ago from his construction job. "You no-good sonofabitch," he growled at Hanson, even though the man couldn't hear him. "You're gonna regret firing me, that's for damned sure." He lowered the binoculars. "In fact, you're ALL gonna regret what you did to me, when this is over."** _

_**He returned his attention to the rescue operations in the park. He chuckled, knowing that Malloy missed a prime opportunity to fire at him while he was standing up looking at the mini-convoy that had pulled in behind Mac's wagon. Instead, they were focused in on getting the people loaded up on the armored rig. Slipping down behind the edge of the wall, the sniper lined up the rescuers in his sights. He spotted two businessmen being helped aboard, one of the men evidently giving Malloy a hard time. The sniper squeezed off a shot that grazed the man's shoulder, and he was quickly hustled into the rig without further ado. The rig then swayed across the lawn to pick up a couple of college-age boys. The sniper watched as the one kid climbed into the passenger side of the rig, while Malloy and the paramedic grabbed the other kid's body and prepared to get to the Armadillo with it. One of the businessmen got out of the back of the bus and climbed in next to the kid in the passenger seat, in order to make room for the seriously injured boy the medic and Malloy were carrying. They got him aboard and the bus took off. And even up on the rooftop, the sniper knew the kid was a goner; and it was proven shortly afterwards, when he heard the frantic screams of a female aboard the rig. After all, not too many people come into contact with the brutal face of death. But thanks to the sniper's actions, quite a few of them were experiencing it on this formerly ordinary day.** _

* * *

**Triage**

**4:00 P.M.**

When we swing the doors of the Armadillo open, we're greeted by Dr. Mike Morton and nurse Geri Lombard this time. "What have you got?" Morton asks in a clipped tone.

Gage and I help the injured teenage boy out of the back of the rig. "Bullet wounds to the right leg and left shoulder," Gage tells him as we assist the kid onto a gurney. "I didn't get a chance to check how serious they were." Two ambulance attendants quickly haul him away.

"What about him?" Morton asks, gesturing to the dead kid on the floor of the rig.

I shake my head. "He's DOA."

"What?" Morton exclaims with anger. "You hauled in a dead kid that should've been left in the field?"

"I felt a pulse on him," Gage tells him sharply. "He was still alive when we loaded him up." He hands the slightly injured businessman out next. "Graze to the shoulder," he tells Morton.

Morton guides the man to a waiting cot. "You're not supposed to be wasting time on the dead out there, Gage. It's the living that need our help right now."

"You think I don't KNOW that?" Gage snaps, as he and Reed help the sobbing teenage girl out.

"Is there an area where the non-injured are supposed to go?" I ask Morton, trying to defuse the situation. "So that they can be interviewed by the homicide dicks?"

Morton jerks his thumb at a small cluster of people standing off to the side of the triage area. They all wear the same stunned expressions, marking them as the survivors of the sniper's rampage. "There," he says. "That's where they're supposed to go."

"C'mon, I'll take you guys over there," Gage tells the other businessman, the college kid, and the teenage girl. Shooting Morton a purely evil look, he leads them away.

"We've gotta get this kid's body off the rig, Doc," Jim says.

Morton glares at us, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "You three need to remember your orders out there," he tells us. He motions for the attendants to bring another gurney over to the rig. "Black tag him," he tells the attendants as they begin to remove the kid's body from the rig. "These fools brought in a DOA." He shakes his head. "You know, it's not like we don't have enough to deal with over in triage…"

"And it's not like we don't have enough to deal with out in the field," I snap, my anger igniting. "Not only are we dealing with the same injuries you are, but we've also got the added bonus of worrying about getting our asses shot out there. Maybe you'd like to strap on vest and take a ride out there in the field with us, huh?"

Before Dr. Morton can reply, Dixie McCall hurries over. "Mike, Kel needs you," she says.

"We'll deal with this later," Morton tells us over his shoulder as he strides across the grass.

Dixie stares after Morton. "What was that all about?" she asks, turning back to us.

Reed jerks a thumb at the ambulance attendants that are hauling the sheet-covered body away. "We brought in a young man that died in the back of the rig before we could get him to triage. Morton thought we should've left him where he was at, in the park."

"I see," Dixie says, nodding sagely. "You'll have to forgive Dr. Morton," she tells us. "Tempers are beginning to flare. The doctors are seeing a lot of hellish injuries."

"And we're not?" Gage asks her, returning with a couple of towels. Handing one to me, he nods his head imperceptibly at Jim, then climbs into the back and begins swabbing the blood down as best he can. "Not only are we seeing the same injuries the docs are out in the field, but we also hafta worry about if the sniper is gonna shoot at us. Would Morton like to trade with me?" he asks.

Dixie shakes her head. "No, Johnny. I doubt he would."

"Then tell Morton to shut the hell up," I say. Turning to Jim, I hand him the towel. "Wipe the gore off of your vest," I tell him.

Snatching the towel out of my hand with a glare, he rubs at the blood and brains on his Kevlar vest. "You know, Jackie Kennedy wore JFK's blood and brains on her dress and stockings after he was assassinated in Dallas," he tells me sharply. "In order to show the world what it had done to her husband."

"Maybe so," I tell him. "But you're not Jackie Kennedy. You're not pretty enough, and I don't think you could pull off wearing a pillbox hat like she could."

Dixie smiles. "Pete's got you there, Jim. You don't have Jackie's classic good looks."

"Or her legs," Gage replies with a chuckle. He holds up the bloody towel he was using to clean the floor of the rig. "Where do you want this, Dix?" he asks.

"I'll take it," she tells him, taking it from him. She holds her hand out for the towel Reed is using to wipe off his vest. With a grimace, he hands it to her, then he climbs back into the Armadillo without looking at any of us.

One of the medevac choppers takes off, the blades whupping through the air, kicking up bits of grit and debris as it slowly lifts into the sky. Dixie, Johnny and I turn our backs, shielding ourselves until the chopper has flown off. "Be careful out there," Dixie tells all three of us. "We want all of you to come back in one piece." Then she heads towards the triage area.

"Are we ready to roll again?" Gus calls from the driver's seat.

"Just a sec," I call back, then I climb into the rig next to Jim. "Look," I tell him. "Let me get Vince to take your place." I put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll swing by the command post and have Mac call him over. He can be suited up and ready to go in no time flat, I'm sure."

Angrily, Reed shakes my hand off, his eyes flashing at me. "I'm FINE, Pete!" he snaps. "Time is of the essence here. And we can't waste that time waiting for Vince to come over from the roadblock and suit up."

"If this is bothering you, though, I'd rather do that," I tell him.

"Pete, I'm fine," he grumbles. "Now just let me be!"

Studying him a moment longer, I shake my head. Exchanging a concerned look with Johnny, who shrugs, I wipe at the sweat that trickles down my face. Reluctantly, I rap on the side of the bus to let Gus know the three of us are ready to go again.

The Armadillo passes the command post, where Mac is in deep discussion with two uniformed cops and a man in a denim shirt and blue jeans. A white Chevy pickup is parked behind a panel truck, which is parked behind Mac's wagon. "Brick's Construction" is emblazoned on the sides of the pickup, while "LAPD Mobile Emergency Command Unit" is emblazoned on the side of the panel truck. Mac glances up once as we roll past, then he returns to his discussion.

"One must be the contractor," Gage says, spotting the group out of the opened back doors of the rig. "But what's the big panel truck for?"

"It's our logistics truck," I tell him.

"Did you guys just get it at the same time you got the Armadillo?" he asks, brightening a bit with curiosity.

"No, we've had the logistics truck for a long time," I tell him. "We use it in other situations besides sniper attacks."

"Like what?" he asks.

"Well, like if there's a high-profile crime scene, like the Manson murders, or if the city would be hit with an earthquake or other natural disaster. It's got all kinds of equipment in the back, along with maps of the whole city. There's a lot of high-tech gear aboard, including a radio console that can put us in touch with other districts in a hurry. It's basically a mobile command unit. From here on out, that'll be our command post. We'll coordinate a plan for getting the sniper down once operations are finished in the field."

"It's a good thing you guys have stuff like that," Gage says. He pats the side of the rig. "Good thing you have this baby, too. What made the LAPD decide to invest in this?"

"Charles Whitman in Austin, Texas and Mark Essex in Atlanta," I tell him.

Jim looks up, fixing Johnny with a piercing gaze. "You know, Gage, you sure as hell ask a lot of questions," he tells him sharply.

"Sorry," Johnny says, giving him a lopsided grin. "I'm just curious."

"Yeah, well, do you think you can just shut the hell up for a few minutes?" Jim snaps. "I'm getting damned sick and tired of hearing you yap."

Startled, Johnny stares at him, then he looks away. "Fine," he says. "I'll shut up."

"Good," Jim tells him, then he catches my glare. "And the same goes for you too, Pete. Just shut up. Got it?"

After a moment or so of silence, Gage speaks again. "You know, it seems to me he's not shooting as much now," he says. "Maybe he's gotten bored." He shrugs. "We can always hope, anyway."

"Well, you know what they say," I tell him. "Hope springs eternal."

Reed looks at me then, his blue eyes meeting mine, and what I see in them truly bothers me. It's not Jim Reed looking at me, it's another man, someone who is angry and disgusted and scared at what he has witnessed so far. "Hope doesn't exist in Hell," he says, his tone dull. "You should know that, Pete."

"You know, something I don't understand," Gage says contemplatively. "He's got all the opportunities in the world to shoot any of us, kill us with a shot to the head, but he hasn't. I wonder why?"

"He wants us to suffer," Reed says. "And he wants to  _see_  us suffer, too. That's how he's getting his kicks."

"I'm gonna be pulling up to the picnic pavilion," Gus calls out to us. "I don't know how many victims are in there."

Once again, we throw open the rear doors of the Armadillo and leap out, tarnished heroes wearing the blood of the innocents upon us. We spread out to check the pavilion. The first one I come across is a park groundskeeper, dressed in a green uniform. He's dead, a bullet wound to his chest. An overturned can of green pain lies nearby, evidence that he was working on the pavilion when the shooting started. I quickly move on. The next set of victims I come across is a mother and her toddler son. She has a hip injury and is unable to walk. Her little boy sits sobbing on the cement floor next to his mother. I look around for Gage or Reed in order for them to help me, but see neither one. Then I spot Gage coming out of one of the bathrooms and I wave him over. "I've got one with a hip injury," I tell him. "I can carry her if you can grab her little boy."

"Got it," he says. "There's no one in the bathrooms, I checked."

"Where's Jim?" I ask, trying to scoop the woman up as gently as I can.

"He heard someone moaning on the other side of the pavilion," he says, picking up the screaming little boy.

Just as I start towards the rig with the woman in my arms, Jim hurries across the cement floor of the pavilion, carrying a young woman in her early twenties in his arms, her leg bleeding. The three of us meet up at the rig. Johnny climbs inside first, settling the little boy into a corner, then he helps me hoist the toddler's mother inside. The last one we load is the woman in Jim's arms, her leg bleeding from a wound to her calf. Reed and I climb aboard and Jim raps on the side, the rig starting up once more.

"I'm heading for the fountain," Gus calls out. "I see at least two victims there."

The Armadillo sways and rocks across the grass and lurches to a stop next to the granite fountain, the water bubbling merrily over the sides, oblivious to the carnage around it. When we get out, there's more than two victims by the fountain. One is a teenage boy, his torso and head bobbing lifelessly in the water, the blood from his injuries tingeing the water pink. Another is a teenage girl, her face cut by shards of granite from a ricochet shot. Reed helps her aboard. The boy lying next to her is deceased, his throat shot out. Johnny hovers over two more young people, a college-age boy and girl, and I trot over to help him out. One glance at the boy tells me he is dead, his eye drilled neatly out of its socket from a bullet. The girl is still alive, her calico dress soaked with blood from a wound in her upper abdomen. She moans as Johnny scoops her up and heads to the Armadillo with her.

I scan the rest of the park quickly. There's only one spot we haven't hit, and that's near the playground equipment. I can see people on the ground over there, but can't tell if they're still alive. I hurry over to the passenger side of the rig. "Look, follow me over there," I tell Gus. "The rig will cover me from sniper fire."

"We can't take too many more aboard, Pete," Gus warns me.

"We're gonna have to," I tell him. "We're going to be running out of daylight soon, and I don't know about you, but I sure as hell don't want to be running rescues in this park after dark."

"Got a point there, Malloy," Gus says. "Okay, take off and I'll follow."

I set out across the Irish green grass, coming to a set of domed monkey bars where a mother and her son lie on the sand below. Slipping between the metal bars, I check them, finding them both dead. I look up to see that Reed and Gage have exited the Armadillo and are also headed towards the playground equipment; Reed to the swings, where another young mother and child lay, and Gage to the slide where a mother and her two children are at. Crossing back beneath the monkey bars, I head over to Gage to help him out. I glance back to see that Jim is quickly carrying the mother to the bus, while her child lies screaming on the ground. Opening the door of the Armadillo, he places her on the passenger seat of the rig, and I assume that she's not injured. I hesitate, then continue to where Gage is at. By the time I reach him, Jim is already crossing the grass in order to pick up the child he left behind.

"They're gone," he tells me, nodding his head at the mother and her small son. "But I swear I saw the little girl take a breath." He is doing gentle chest compressions on the little girl.

I kneel down next to him, my eyes taking in the gaping hole in the child's stomach. Every time Gage presses down on her chest, bright red blood foams up out of the wound. "Johnny, she's gone," I tell him gently. "Leave her be."

"No, I saw her take a breath," he tells me. "Pete, help me with her!" His voice is frantic, and he casts a panicky look at me.

"Johnny, she's dead!" I tell him sharply. "Now get up and get back on the rig!"

"Damn it, if you won't help, I'll carry her there myself!" he snaps, starting to slide his hands under her tiny body.

Grabbing him by the back of his vest, I yank him away. "Leave her, Gage, and that's an order!"

With a startling suddenness, he springs to his feet, coming up swinging at me, his eyes blazing with fury. His fist connects with my chin and I stagger back from the force of the blow, momentarily stunned. "Let me do my job, you bastard!" he yells at me.

Reed has scrambled out of the Armadillo and crossed the grass to where we're at. "Knock it off, Gage!" he tells him sharply. "The little girl is obviously gone, and there's nothing you can do to bring her back! So get your ass back aboard the Armadillo!"

Defiantly, Johnny starts towards the little girl's body once more, preparing to pick her up. Jim catches him by the front of his vest and delivers a stinging slap to his cheek. Without giving Gage a chance to react, he turns him around and shoves him towards the rig, hard, causing Johnny to stumble. "Get going, NOW!" he thunders at him. "You okay?" he asks me, over his shoulder, as he presses Gage forward.

"Yeah, he just clipped me," I say, rubbing my jaw.

Scowling, Gage hops into the back of the Armadillo, seating himself as far away as us as possible. "You had no call to do that, Reed," he mutters in a low angry tone.

Jim climbs in, sitting on one of the benches. "Can it, Gage," he snaps. "We have other things to worry about than your injured feelings right now."

I climb in last, rapping on the side of the Armadillo to let Gus know we're ready to go again. I scan the faces of my compatriots, seeing battle fatigue and exhaustion etched sharply in the features of both Johnny and Jim. And I know I must look the same to them. Leaning my head back against the side of the Armadillo, I close my eyes, drawing in a deep breath.  _How much more of this can we take?_ I wonder to myself.

"I see three more victims," Gus calls to us. "And then that's it as far as the people in the park go." The Armadillo bounces across the sod for a short distance, then it stops. Reed and I both exit, while Gage stays inside.

The final victims are a mother and her infant daughter and toddler son. She is lying on a picnic blanket, an overturned stroller nearby. She cuddles her children close to her, shielding them with her body, looking up as we approach. "I'm not injured," she says to us. "But my kids are." Her cotton blouse and jeans are spattered with the blood of her children as Reed helps her to her feet.

He guides her to the Armadillo, nodding for me to grab one of the two kids. "I'll get her aboard, Pete," he tells me. "Then I'll come back for one of them, if you can grab the other."

"My kids," she says to him as he hands her aboard. "Don't leave my Tammy and Gary behind. They need me. They've been so good and so quiet for the last couple of hours."

"We'll get them, miss, don't worry," Reed assures her.

I kneel down next to the little boy who is lying face down on the blanket. I turn him gently over, only to find that his face is gone, replaced by a mass of gory tissue and shattered bone fragments. I glance once at the infant girl, no older than six months at the most, and realize she's gone, too. One of her tiny hands was completely severed from her wrist by the sniper's bullet, and it lies just a small distance from her body, wee fingers still clutching a pink rattle firmly. She has bled out on the blanket. Saliva fills my mouth and I swallow rapidly, trying not to break one of my own commandments about getting sick in a crime scene. I come to my feet as Reed returns. "They're gone," I tell him thickly. "Both of them."

"How could she not know they were dead?" he asks me as we return to the Armadillo.

"Maybe she didn't want to believe it herself," I say as I climb aboard.

"My kids, where's my kids?" she asks, as Reed hops on, swinging the doors mostly shut behind him. "You can't leave my kids behind!" Horror-stricken, she stares at us as the Armadillo slowly starts up.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but they were gone," I tell her gently.

"NO!" she screams, leaping off of the bench. "YOU HEARTLESS BASTARDS! YOU CAN'T LEAVE MY KIDS BEHIND!" She slams past me, throwing the doors of the rig open and nimbly leaping out before we can stop her. She dives to the grass, falling to her knees with the impact

"Gus, stop the rig!" Reed shouts. "We've got a lady who's jumped off!"

"Sonofabitch," I hiss, then I'm already in motion, sliding out of the Armadillo before it stops. I take off after her across the grass as she runs towards the blanket where her children lay. I catch her as she's almost there, grabbing her by the arm and swinging her rather roughly around to face me. "Ma'am, you need to get back on the rig!" I tell her sharply.

"You evil sonofabitch, you let me go!" she shrieks at me, clawing at my face and kicking at me, trying to get me to loosen my grip on her. She fights frantically, her anger and her fear giving her the strength of a she-bear. She writhes in my grip, spitting and screaming profanities at me.

I grapple with her, spotting Reed running to my aid. I twist her around, managing to get one arm around her waist, hugging her to me. "Help me with…" I begin to say, but I hear the crack of the rifle and she is suddenly slammed back against me, hard, her struggles ceasing immediately as bright red blood blossoms viciously on her chest. The impact causes me to stagger back, relinquishing my hold on her, her body thudding nearly noiselessly to the ground, as the breath leaves my body in a sickening rush. I drop to my knees, frantically trying to gasp air back into my lungs, as my shaking fingers clutch at the blades of grass beneath me, and the world whirls before my watering eyes in a merry-go-round daze of emerald green, azure sky, and crimson blood blossomed on a pale, still body. A dull roaring fills my ears and hot bile quickly races past my throat, spewing out of my mouth as I vomit uncontrollably on the ground in front of me. Gagging and heaving, crying as I try and catch even the tiniest breath to ease the burning in my lungs, I dimly hear my name being called from a distant land. Two hands tug at the back of my vest, pulling me over onto my ass rather ungracefully.

"PETE!" Jim screams in my ear. "ARE YOU HIT?"

I cannot answer him, coughing and spitting like a Model T in need of a tune-up. I turn fearful teary eyes towards him, gesturing clumsily to my vest. "I-I-I," I sputter, my voice raspy as I clutch at my chest. Another wave of nausea hits me and I jerk forward, just barely avoiding getting sick all over myself as sour puke gushes out once more. The pain around my heart is nearly unbearable, the agony of trying to breathe searing and knife-sharp. I manage to draw in one single shuddering breath, but it fails to satisfy my panicky lungs. Through the tears blurring my eyes, I see that John Gage has joined Reed, and the two of them heave me to my feet, supporting my weight between them. Dragging me still spitting and sputtering on wobbly legs to the Armadillo that Gus has swung around and rapidly driven up to meet us, Gage hops on board first, grabbing me by the front of the vest while Reed shoves at me from behind. Between the two of them, they manage to get me aboard, sliding me across the ridged metal flooring as if I were nothing more than a child. Reed climbs aboard, giving a sharp rap on the side of the rig, and it takes off with a lurch, bouncing rapidly across the ground.

"Pete, are you hit?" Gage asks me, kneeling on the metal floor in front of me. His voice sounds tinny, like he's speaking over transatlantic wires.

"I…I…I can't breathe," I gasp out, my fingers tugging ineffectually at my vest. "I can't breathe!" I moan, panic lacing my voice. What if I'll never be able to breathe again? Frightened, I scrabble at the vest again, my frantic fingers slipping across the blood of the woman who took the bullet for me. I cough and gag again, but nothing comes up. Closing my eyes, I let my head roll back, the act of trying to suck air into my lungs sheer fiery agony. I shove myself to a sitting position on the warm metal floor, thinking that if I'm sitting up, maybe I can catch my breath. Sweat rolls down my back and my face with the exertion of my efforts.

"Help me get his vest off," Gage tells Reed. "I need to see if the bullet went through the Kevlar." I catch the worried look he exchanges with Reed over my head.

"Wait until we're at triage," Jim says. "We're almost there." He's sitting on the bench behind me, my weight braced against his legs as he holds onto my shoulders. "Pete, just hold on, we're almost safe, okay?" he tells me, giving me a slight shake.

Still gasping, I nod, my eyes skating across the other victims in the back of the Armadillo, their eyes wide as they stare at me in fear and shock. Scrubbing a hand across my face, I suddenly feel like a damned fool in front of these folks, some of whom have suffered actual injuries, not like just getting dinged in the vest like I did. Shame fills me, crossing my face in a hot wave of embarassment. "'M alright," I mumble thickly, keeping my gaze on my grass-and-bloodstained hands in my lap. "It didn't go through the vest." I roll my tongue around in my mouth, wishing I had something to rinse the sour taste out of it. My breathing comes a bit easier now, but the burning sensation is still there. I hope to myself that I'll be able to finally draw in a deep satisfying breath to soothe my lungs sometime within this century.

The Armadillo rolls to a stop and the doors swing open. "What have we got?" asks Dr. Brackett.

"Pete got…" Reed begins.

"Get the others off-board first," I rasp hoarsely. "They're hurt a helluva lot worse than I am."

Johnny shoots me a quick glance as he hops down. "We've got a hip injury, a leg injury, an abdominal wound, and some minor facial lacerations," he tells Brackett. "Plus two uninjured up front. And Pete got clipped in the vest by a bullet. I don't think it penetrated the Kevlar, but you need to check him out."

Sliding on my butt across the floor, I slip to the ground on shaky legs. Throwing a hand out, I steady myself on the door as Reed begins scooting the injured out. He casts me a worried glance, then he helps ease the woman with the abdominal injury out first.

Brackett takes one look at her as she's placed on a gurney. "Red tag," he tells the attendants, and they hurry her off to triage. "I'll be there in a moment." He motions to Dr. John Watson from Central Receiving's trauma team. "John," he says as Reed scoots the lady with the hip injury forward next. "Got a hip injury. Yellow tag." He hands her little boy out after her.

"Right," Watson tells him, taking the little boy into his arms, and then he hurries off after the gurney.

Mike Morton steps up next, taking the woman with the leg injury without Brackett even telling him. "Yellow tag, I know," he says to Brackett as he follows the gurney.

The girl with the facial injuries from the chips of granite climbs out last. She is comforted by nurse Geri Lombard as she is led away. The uninjured mother and child from the front seat of the rig have gotten out, and hover hesitantly behind me. "Where do we go?" she asks.

"I'll show you," Dixie McCall tells her gently, putting her arm around the woman's shoulder and leading her off to the area where the non-injured victims are awaiting interviews by the homicide teams.

Reed puts a hand on my shoulder as he and Johnny look at me with concern. "Let's get you over to triage," Reed says.

I shrug his hand off. "I'm fine," I say, and tugging at the buckle on the military harness over my vest, I unbuckle it, slipping the black webbing over my head. "I just need to gather my wits about me." Working with fumbling fingers, I manage to get the straps on the Kevlar vest undone, pulling it over my head and dropping it to the ground at my feet. My breathing is coming to me easier now, if still somewhat raggedly.

"You don't have any wits to gather about you, Pete," Jim quips humorlessly.

"Officer Malloy, I need you to come with me to the triage area," intones a very officious voice, one that I've heard before, and hated ever since.

I straighten up to face paramedic Craig Brice. "I'm fine, really," I say. "I was just stunned. The vest stopped the shot." I rub the spot over my chest where the bullet hit me.

"Maybe so, but I'll need you to come with me," he tells me. "We can't have you returning to rescue operations until you've been checked out."

"Look, Brice, how about I take Pete over to triage and check him out?" Johnny says.

"You're working the field operations, Gage," Brice tells him smugly. "You're not part of the triage operations."

John and Jim exchange a smirky look. "Uh…yeah, Brice," Gage says. "You know, I'd feel a helluva lot better, and I think Reed here feels the same way, if we'd escort Pete over to triage with you. Just to be on the safe side."

Brice frowns. "Are you saying I'm not capable of escorting him over there myself?"

"Noooo…" Johnny says innocently. "But I know Pete, and if you give him half a chance, he'll escape on you the moment your back is turned."

"Yeah," says Jim with a nod. "'Cuz that's how Pete is and all. You know."

"I'm well aware of Officer Malloy's personality quirks," Brice informs them, his arms folded across his chest. "We've tangled before." He regards me with something akin to amusement, if Craig Brice had a funny bone, which I doubt he does. "And if I recall correctly, I came out the victor in our last little skirmish, Officer Malloy."

Anger flashes in my eyes and flushes my face. "Only if you call me threatening to strangle you with your own stethoscope a victory," I snap at the hated little turd. "And maybe a little rat bastard like you WOULD consider that a victory, considering how hard I imagine they are to come by for you, you little weasel." My heated comment causes both Gage and Reed to snort with laughter.

Brice's mouth twitches a bit as the amusement leaves his eyes and they narrow. "May I remind you, I was just doing my duty that night, Officer Malloy. And I am just doing my duty now. Now if you'll follow me…"

"Still haven't learned the art of saying 'please', have you, Brice?" I ask.

"Is there a problem over here?" asks Dr. Brackett as he approaches us once more. He is followed by Roy DeSoto.

Brice gestures to me. "Officer Malloy is not willing to comply with my request to go to the triage area and be checked out."

Brackett studies him, his arms folded across his blood-spattered green surgical scrubs. "Do tell," he says dryly. "Brice, why don't you go see if they need any further help in triage? The medevac chopper is getting ready to take off with the last critical patient, but I'm sure they can use some assistance with the yellow and green tagged patients. I'll check Officer Malloy over for injuries myself."

Brice frowns. "But I…"

Gage makes a shooing motion with his hands. "Go on, Craig," he says. "Shoo. You're needed at triage."

"You know, in a situation like this, compliance with the rules is of the utmost important," Brice informs us snippily. "It's critical to maintaining complete control over a chaotic scene."

"Yeah, well, tell that to the sniper," Reed says. "He's the one who started this whole mess."

Brice studies us for a moment longer, then he stalks off, muttering to himself.

"Jackass," Johnny mumbles under his breath.

"You're right, Pete, Brice IS an asshole," Jim says. "Did you really threaten to strangle him with his stethoscope?"

"Yeah," I say, with a slight smirk. "I did."

"Joking aside, Brice is good at what he does," Brackett reminds us. He nods to me. "I'll need you to unzip your coveralls so I can take a quick listen to your heart and lungs, Pete."

"But the bullet didn't penetrate the Kevlar," I protest.

"You might be able to argue your way around Brice, Malloy, but you can't argue your way around me," Dr. Brackett says. "Now do as I tell you, or I'll inform your sergeant that you're not complying with my command. And I'm sure you won't want that, since he'll likely remove you from duty pending a physical."

"Oh, for God's sake," I sigh, unzipping the coveralls. "I'm fine, really. Just give me the once-over and send me back to duty."

Brackett shakes his head as he puts the earpieces of his stethoscope into his ears. "Always have to be a problem patient, don't you, Malloy?" he asks. "And don't threaten to strangle me with my stethoscope, either, for acting on your own best interests." He gestures to the rig. "I need you to sit down."

I grin a bit. "Whaddaya gonna do to me if I  _do_ threaten to strangle you with your own stethoscope?" I ask, having a seat on the bumper of the Armadillo.

"Let's just say it involves giving you a shot," he says. "In the ass," he adds wryly.

"Um…I think I'll pass," I tell him. "I kind of have a strange aversion to pain." Then I fall quiet as Dr. Brackett slides the metal disc of the stethoscope across the cotton fabric of my t-shirt. He orders me to take deep breaths, and I comply. When he's finished, he steps back, and I stand up, zipping the coveralls back up. "Am I good to go?" I ask, picking up my harness from the ground.

He nods. "Your lung sounds are clear, your heart sounds fine. You'll probably have one helluva bruise on your chest where that bullet hit your vest at, but that's about it. Of course, it goes without saying, that if you have any problems, you need to get to the ER immediately. Got it?"

"I do," I say, nodding.

Brackett looks over at Gus, who has gotten out of the Armadillo. "How many more victims do you think you'll be pulling out of the park?" he asks.

Gus shakes his head. "The ones left in the park now are DOA. There won't be any more live victims we'll be pulling out now. It's up to the coroner's office to finish that job up."

"You checked the park out thoroughly?" Brackett asks.

Gus nods. "We did. Trust me, there was no one left alive in there. The ones we brought in on this last run were the only ones left."

Brackett rubs his forehead wearily. "I'm going to go ahead and release the other two trauma teams to go back into service, along with one of the county rescue squads and all but one ambulance. Dixie and I will remain here, until the situation is brought under control. And of course, Station 51's crew will be here."

"Yeah, we have to be interviewed yet," Roy DeSoto says. He's been quiet this whole time. "The homicide detectives are already interviewing Chet and Marco. Cap is next, and after he's done, Mike goes. Then you and I are the last two to be interviewed, Johnny." He points to an area where the homicide team is conducting interviews, a table and folding chairs set up under a small tent. Another small tent is set up nearby, and a handful of people are gathered under it, many of them weeping. I exchange a glance with Reed, both of us knowing that those are the family members that are awaiting word on their loved ones in the park.

Dr. Brackett gives us a curt nod. "Make sure and inform Sergeant MacDonald at the command post that we're releasing most everyone from the scene." He starts to walk away, then he turns back. "Oh, and glad to see that all of you made it back in one piece," he adds with a small grin. "Especially you, Gage." Then he sets off across the grass to the triage area.

"What did he mean by that remark?" Gage asks, frowning. He undoes the straps of his helmet, tossing it in the back of the Armadillo with a clang. He runs a hand through his hair, then he undoes the vest, tugging it off over his head, laying it in next to the discarded helmet.

"It means that your reputation as a walking disaster magnet is well-known far and wide," Roy replies, giving his partner a wry grin. "Your ability to get injured in even the simplest of situations is quite legendary, Johnny."

"Well, it's good to see you, too," Gage snipes, then he smiles. "Hey, I wasn't the one hit this time. It was Pete that got clipped."

Reed has picked up my vest and is studying it. He lets out a low whistle, as he points to the small black hole in the Kevlar, a pancaked bullet packed firmly into it. "Came pretty damn close to going through," he says. "You're lucky it didn't, Pete. Otherwise you'd be a goner."

A wave of slight wooziness hits me at the realization that I came close to death, and I grab onto the edge of the Armadillo's door in order to support myself, but no one notices that I've gone a bit pale. And after a moment, the sensation passes.

"See?" Johnny exclaims giddily. He pulls a bright green pen from his uniform breast pocket, and waves it at us. "My lucky green pen saved us from being harmed! What'd I tell ya guys when I first got aboard the rig? My lucky pen would protect us and it did!"

"I don't think luck had much to do with it, Johnny," Reed says, exchanging a wry look with me.

Suddenly the CC unit on my military harness crackles to life.  _"You guys about done over there?"_ asks Mac's voice over the radio.

I unclip it from the belt. "Yeah, we are," I tell him.

_"Good,"_ he says.  _"Are rescue operations finished?"_

"They are," I say. "All that's left in the park and the street now are fatalities."

_"Then head over here to the command post so we can figure out the next step in getting this bastard down from there. Tell Gus to bring the Armadillo."_

"Roger," I say, clicking the unit off. I nod to Gage and DeSoto. "We've gotta take off," I say, grabbing my destroyed vest and climbing back into the rear of the Armadillo. Reed hops up next to me, while Gus goes around to the driver's side.

Johnny starts to follow us, but Roy catches him by the sleeve. "Uh-uh, Junior. You can't go with them on this run, you're not a cop. Let's go see if we can pester Brice in the triage area, okay?" he says.

Gage casts a longing glance at the rig as we pull away. "I guess," I hear him sigh as he follows Roy. He gives us a half-wave as we roll across the grass.

Reed and I both return the wave. "You know, much as I hate to admit it, it was a good idea to have him aboard," Reed tells me.

"Yeah, but don't tell HIM that," I say. "Otherwise he'll want to ride along on the next sniper attack."

The Armadillo pulls up next to the logistics truck and the three of us get out. Mac is inside the truck, speaking on the radio. He glances at us as we hover around the rear of the truck, then he nods. "Yeah, don't make a move on either of those residences until the bomb squads get there," he says. There are two staticky replies, then he sets the mike down on the built-in table in the truck. He gestures to the guy in the denim shirt and blue jeans. "This is Mike Hanson," he says. "Up until two weeks ago, he was the boss of our guy on the roof. He was fired for stealing dynamite, blasting caps, and detonators from a work site. I've sent two cars to do welfare checks on his ex-wife and kids, along with his parents. I've also got a search warrant issued for his apartment. I've ordered the units not to make entry until the bomb squads get there and can check the residences out for any booby-traps he might have laid with the dynamite he stole." Mac jabs a finger at the blueprints he has spread out in front of him. "I've got the layout of the Granite Court building right here. Our next step is trying to figure out how we're gonna bring him down."

"Mac," Reed asks. "Who exactly is the sniper?"

Mac stares at us in surprise. "You mean you didn't hear my traffic on Tac2 a little bit ago, over the Armadillo's radio?"

I shake my head. "No, we didn't."

"Oh Christ," he says, drawing in a deep breath. "I thought you guys knew." He rubs his hand down his face. "It's Burnside," he tells us. "Charlie Burnside."

* * *

Rooftop of the Granite Court building

**4:30 P.M.**

_**He was aware his identity was now known to the cops. It would've only been a matter of time, anyway, he told himself. And as he looked out over the still bodies dotting the green grass of the park, he thought of how much he hated those people down there, even though he didn't know them. For hate and resentment was what fueled Charlie Burnside; it seemed he'd never known anything else. He'd grown up hating his parents, his father a weak-willed puny accountant who allowed his fat, bossy wife to rule the roost with a chubby iron fist. His dad brought home the paycheck every week, and did all the housework to boot, while his mom laid around on her fat ass all day, listening to her "stories" and screaming at her husband and son when they weren't fast enough to do her bidding. And Charlie hated his classmates, for they knew that his was an unconventional household, and never failed to tease him about it…in grade school, at least. Charlie learned how to fight, and fast, and he soon became the bully instead of the kid who was always picked on. By high school, he'd become the star quarterback for the football team, and had hopes of becoming a pro, hopes that were soon dashed when he got his girlfriend knocked up and ended up marrying the dumb bitch right after graduation. Yeah, there went his dreams of playing pro football, instead winding up tied down to a complaining wife and a squalling brat. He tried to escape into the Army, but an injury he'd gotten while playing football exempted him. He worked menial and undemanding jobs, until one day he spotted a recruiting poster for the Los Angeles Police Department and applied. He was elated when he got the job, breezing through the Academy like it was cotton candy. And by now, Charlie's cruel streak was well-hidden by a fake and hearty hail-fellow-well-met exterior. Along came baby number two, another squalling brat, and Charlie was glad to be able to escape into the duties of his job as a cop.** _

_**The badge on his chest gave him a sense of power that he didn't have at home, and he wasn't afraid to wield whatever "friendly persuasion" tactics he had in order to make his arrest record look good to the brass. So what if a few of his prisoners complained he roughed them up a bit? He always had an excuse, and he tried to pick the ones who could be convinced to drop any allegations, after Charlie paid them a friendly little visit, of course. He nearly got caught though, in the Van Nuys Division, after he roughed up a drunk and the man refused to drop the brutality claim. But the man finally saw the light after Charlie made sure he drove past the man's home every night, just to "make sure" he wasn't out drinking again. When Charlie Burnside transferred into Central Division, he made sure he targeted those that were unlikely to accuse a cop of unnecssary force, and he made sure he did it discreetly. And then along came that whiny little puke, Al Porter, the butt of many of Charlie's practical jokes, who ended up putting his mentor Jim Reed onto Charlie's actions. And when Reed witnessed Charlie roughing a criminal up, bad enough to put the man in the hospital, that goddamned boy scout Reed took it to the brass right away. Burnside tried to convince Jim Reed that Charlie wasn't a bad guy at all, that the criminal had it coming to him, but Reed wasn't buying any of it. And Reed's friend and partner, the perfect cop, Pete Malloy, backed Reed and Porter every inch of the way. Such freakin' straight arrows, all of them. Made Charlie wanna puke. And when Charlie Burnside was summarily fired from the police force for use of excessive force, he hated them. He tried to appeal the firing, but was denied. And so Charlie Burnside, former cop, was forced to take a job doing menial labor for a construction company. It was something he hated, for he had to take orders, and no one ordered Charlie Burnside around.** _

_**But it wasn't like he'd had any damned choice. His bitch of a wife packed Charlie's bags for him and set him out like yesterday's garbage after he got fired. She filed for divorce, keeping the house and the kids, while poor Charlie was forced to rent a crackerbox one bedroom apartment in seedy, rundown complex. He was ordered to pay child support, for his two ungrateful kids that he was forced to take every weekend. He'd have gladly left the kids with the ex-wife and her fabulous new husband, a wealthy real-estate developer. Charlie got so sick of hearing his stupid kids whine about how the new stepdaddy gave them everything, while Charlie gave them nothing. And it was a rather ironic little twist of fate that the real-estate developer bought the parcels of land that Granite Park and the Granite Court development sat on, donating the park to the city for a nice big tax write-off. And it was even more ironic that the construction company contracted to build the Granite Court building was the same one Charlie worked for. He'd been on the crew that worked on the site…at least he HAD been, until he got fired for stealing dynamite, blasting caps, and detonators from the site. Charlie would never forget the look of malicious glee that crossed the face of his boss, Mike Hanson, as he gave Burnside his walking papers. It was the final indignity of getting fired that set Charlie's plan in motion. He was going to unleash the hatred he felt on an unsuspecting world.** _

_**He'd broken into his former home late the previous night and killed his ex-wife and her husband, along with his two kids, shooting them all in the heads with a pistol that had a silencer on it. Then he'd gone to his childhood home and perpetrated the same act upon his parents. Then he returned back to his flophouse apartment, writing out a rather lengthy note blaming everyone for making him commit the acts he was about to commit. He loaded up his rental pickup truck and drove to the Granite Court building, forcing the elderly guard to let him in at gunpoint, and then shooting the guard and hauling his body out of sight behind a granite pillar. He then painstakingly unloaded his gear from the truck and brought it up to the roof of the building. Charlie knew he would be alone in the building, he'd had a friend that still worked with the construction firm that informed him of that. And as Charlie stood on the roof, watching the innocent people going about their everyday lives on that ordinary day, his anger reached its zenith. At noon he launched his assault on the unsuspecting public below, hating every man, woman, and child that was in that park, simply because they were there.** _

_**And in the final twist of ironic fate, it turned out to be Charlie's old nemesis, Jim Reed and his faithful partner, Pete Malloy, along with their asshole sergeant, Bill MacDonald, that ended up responding to Charlie's war. It had actually worked out quite well for Charlie, as luck finally dealt Charlie Burnside a winning hand. He laughed to himself as he watched the frantic rescues unfold in the park, he enjoyed it rather immensely. He'd let the cops and the medic do their job; sure he could've shot them at any time, ending their suffering and the horror they were seeing, but Charlie wanted to keep Malloy and Reed alive for the second act. He'd become worried when he fired the shot at the screaming mother who'd leaped out of the back of the armored rig to return to her dead children; he'd seen the shot hit the woman, slamming her back against Malloy. Malloy dropped to the ground, and Charlie held his breath, thinking that he might have ended up shooting Malloy, too, but after Reed and the medic got him aboard the rig, it was evident the vest had stopped the bullet.** _

_**Raising the binoculars once more to his eyes, he scanned the triage area, noting that it appeared to be emptying out a bit. Ambulances were going back into service, the medevac choppers were no longer landing and taking off, and several of the green-outfitted doctors left the scene. All that remained in the triage area were a few small clusters of people, namely survivors of Charlie's rampage and family members awaiting word of those in the park. He knew now the next step would be for the cops to formulate a plan to bring Charlie down. And it wouldn't be hard, he could figure it out himself. They'd drive the Armadillo up to the building and Malloy and Reed would get out, entering the structure, and shoot Charlie down like he was a rabid dog.** _

_**Only Charlie Burnside didn't INTEND to go down like a rabid dog. No, he had other plans yet for Reed and Malloy. He glanced at the lowering sun in the sky overhead. They'd be losing their natural light soon, and he knew they'd be putting their plan into action fast. Setting the rifle down on the rooftop, he went over to the footlocker and picked up a CC unit he'd pilfered from the police department while he was still a cop. Then he picked up a small black box, a grey button in the middle of it and a small antenna poking out of the top of it. Keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the Armadillo still at the command post, he rubbed a thumb across the grey button. Oh yes, Charlie Burnside wasn't going out without a bang. And what a big bang it would be…** _

* * *

Command post, Palmtree and Adamson

**4:30 P.M.**

"So you NEVER filed charges against Burnside for stealing the dynamite and other equipment from the construction company?" Gus Baron asks Mike Hanson in disbelief.

Hanson shakes his head. "He told us he'd taken it in order to help a friend get rid of some tree stumps and a couple of boulders on his farm. We believed him. The boss didn't want to press charges, he just wanted Burnside fired. And he was. We figured that was the end of it. Who knew that Burnside would do something as dastardly as this?"

"You should have filed charges against him," Gus says. "In addition to firing him. Maybe then he'd have been in jail, instead of out here killing people."

Mac sighs heavily. "Look, we can play the blame game later on. Right now our main objective is to get him down from that roof before it gets dark."

Hanson points to the blueprints. "There's the main entrance here, right off of Granite Court. There's a side entrance off of the parking ramp, a freight entrance in the back, and a fire exit on the north side of the building. An elevator is in the middle of the building. There's two sets of stairwells leading up to the fourth floor, but only one set goes all the way to the roof, and that's the southern set of steps. Now the fire door to the roof is push-bar affair from the inside, it'll lock once the door shuts, and can only be opened from the roof itself with a key." He studies the layout a moment. "I'm going to go ahead and say that it's likely Burnside has disabled the electricity to the building, so it's going to be a bit on the dim side going in." He jabs a finger at the main entrance and the side entrance off of the parking ramp. "Your best bet for entry is one of those two entrances. The freight entrance has two sets of doors you've gotta get through, the dock door and the interior door."

"And we'll lose time trying that," Gus says, looking over the blueprints. "So it's either the side entrance off of the ramp or the main entrance."

"The side entrance will likely be our best shot, since we've got the added protection of the ramp overhead," Reed says. "We drive the Armadillo into the ramp and get through the doors that way. Then it's only a matter of making our way to the roof and getting him."

"That's the next problem," Mac says. "Air Ten reports that he's still got the fire escape door propped open, so he's gonna see you guys coming up the steps easily. All he'll have to do is line you up in the doorway and shoot."

"What about diversionary tactics?" Reed asks. "Smoke bombs, firecrackers? We could toss them onto the roof."

"You're forgetting something," Gus says. "Even if one of us COULD toss something that high, how the hell are we gonna get onto the roof? There's no low buildings next to it that we could toss grappling hooks over and climb."

I study the layout. "We could do this," I say, rubbing my chin. "We could get into the side entrance by driving the Armadillo into the ramp. While we wait inside, Gus could take the rig to the top deck of the ramp and on cue, throw the diversions. With the diversions going, we storm the roof and take him down." I shrug. "It's either that or wait him out."

"And we can't do that," Mac says. "For all we know, he could have enough crap stockpiled up on that roof to keep him going for weeks." He shakes his head. "No, Pete's idea is probably the best. Gus drives the Armadillo up into the ramp, letting him and Reed off at the side entrance, then Gus takes the rig to the top of the ramp, tosses the diversions, and hopes for the best, that they can hit the roof before the smoke clears and Burnside shoots."

"Always the optimist, aren't you?" I ask dryly.

"There's a chance that this might not work, Pete," Mac tells me a bit sharply. "But I can't see running it any other way. He's gotta be neutralized, no doubt about it."

"We're damned if we do, and we're damned if we don't," Reed says.

I clear my throat. "Is this neutralization a takedown order, or a shoot-to-kill order?" I ask.

Mac meets my eyes. "Shoot-to-kill, from the Chief himself. Of course, it goes without saying that if you can take Burnside down without killing him, that's fine."

"But you know that's not how it's going to go down," I say. "Burnside isn't going to let that happen. He's gonna go out in a blaze of glory."

"So who's gonna be the lead man on this takedown?" Gus asks me. "You or Reed?"

"I…" Reed begins, but I interrupt.

"I am," I tell Gus, shooting Reed a glance.

Reed glares at me. "I can do it just as easily as Pete can," he tells Gus.

"Pete's the sharpshooter, though," Mac says.

"But so am I!" Reed protests.

"He's the Distinguished Expert, Reed," Mac says. "And you're forgetting one huge thing, Jim. You have a wife and child at home, Pete doesn't. So let him be the primary shooter, while you are the secondary." And sensing that Reed is about to protest further, Mac holds his hand up, stopping him. "It's an order, Reed. And that's final."

Reed sets his mouth in a grim line, but he doesn't say anything further.

"Alright then," Gus says. "Let's saddle up and ride one last time." He nods at me. "Take one of the extra vests, Pete."

"What happened to the one you were wearing?" Mac asks me.

"It took a bullet," I tell him simply. "Over my heart."

Mac lets out a low whistle. "Think your luck will hold out so you can get Burnside?"

"I dunno," I say. "I hope so. I don't have Gage's green pen with me." I grab up an extra vest that is leaning up against Mac's wagon, slipping it on and tightening the straps. I pull the military harness back on once more, making sure that I have ammo clips for both the rifle and bullets for my service revolver, which I've taken out of the holster in Mac's car. I tuck the revolver into the holster on the harness, while Reed does the same thing. Even though we will be toting the rifles into the building with us, we won't use them to take down Burnside if we can keep from it. We'll use the revolvers instead, for close-range action. Gus hands us each a couple of smoke bombs and strings of diversionary firecrackers, just to be on the safe side. He and Reed take the CC units Mac hands them, and they clip them to the shoulders of their harnesses, like mine is already clipped. The last thing Mac hands us is our flashlights, which we tuck into the deep cargo pockets of the coveralls.

"Now when you two get into the building, you give me a double-click on the CC unit, to let me know you're inside. Give me about fifteen seconds, then start moving towards the southern stairwell. I'll give you a double-click on the CC unit to let you know I've made it to the roof. I'll give another click to let you know I'm going to be throwing the diversions. When you hear the firecrackers going, you make your move. Got it?" Gus asks.

Reed and I both nod.

Mac speaks. "I can have Air Ten swing by and keep you updated on Burnside's movements as this is going down," he says. "The chopper can't get real close, but close enough to advise you what he's doing."

"And if it goes sour fast, abort. It's not worth risking our lives for," Gus says. "Not now, anyway. We'll regroup and rethink if it comes to that." He looks at Jim and I. "You two ready to roll?"

"Yeah, we are," I say.

"Good luck," Mac tells us as we all climb back aboard the Armadillo.

"Thanks," I tell him, as the rig starts slowly up. In the back of the rig, I quickly check my rifle one last time while Reed does the same thing.

"I should be allowed to be primary shooter," Reed tells me sourly. "I'm just as good as you, Pete."

"It's not a matter of talent, Jim," I tell him. "It's a matter of you having a family that depends upon you, while I don't."

"And sometimes I wish I didn't have that burden," he says. "Of a wife and child."

I start to make a joke about his always needling me to get married, when I catch his bitter look and think better of it. "You'll get through this, Jim," I tell him. "You and Jean will work out your problems together."

He looks at me then, his gaze angry. "She's pregnant, Pete, with our second child. And yet she's still talking about divorce. How can she want a divorce when we're expecting a baby?" He jabs a finger at me. "And don't tell me it's hormones, either, Malloy. She's dead serious. She's already spoken to a lawyer."

I stare at him, surprised. "I didn't realize it had gone this far," I tell him. "Have you talked to a lawyer yourself?"

He shakes his head. "No, I keep thinking she'll come to her senses somehow." He rubs a hand across his face. "I don't know how much more of this I can take. Some nights I end up sleeping on the couch, while other nights she lets me sleep in the bed. I'm getting to the point where I don't know which way to turn, Pete. I mean, yeah, we've had our share of troubles before now, but never anything this serious, nor anything that has lasted this long."

"You know my couch is always available," I tell him. "You have a key to my place anytime you need to crash there."

"Yeah, I know," he says wearily. "Thanks."

"We're just crossing back into the zone!" Gus calls to us. "We should be hitting the ramp in a minute or so, so be ready to roll!"

"Got it!" I call back, giving a worried look to a brooding Reed. I start to say something further to him, but I'm suddenly cut off.

**THWUMP! KA-BOOM!**

And then the Armadillo rocks violently on its wheels, throwing both of us to the floor as our ears ring with the sound of the explosion, and the Armadillo is peppered with chunks of debris hitting the metal hulk of the rig.

"Jesus Christ!" I yell over the deafening din. "What in the hell was that?"

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **ALL ORIGINAL CONTENT OF THIS STORY IS THE SOLE PROPERTY OF BAMBOOZLEPIG AND MAY NOT BE USED WITHOUT PERMISSION.** In order to enhance the overall plot experience, creative liberties may have been intentionally taken with the real-life protocols depicted herein.

…WE INTERRUPT THIS BROADCAST TO BRING YOU THE FOLLOWING NEWS UPDATE FROM THE ONGOING SNIPER SITUATION IN THE GRANITE COURT AREA. WE UNDERSTAND THERE HAVE BEEN SOME RAPID DEVELOPMENTS IN THIS STORY, AND WE GO NOW TO OUR ACTION FIVE NEWS REPORTER ON THE SCENE, CHRISTOPHER ENGLAND. CHRIS, WHAT CAN YOU TELL US?

"Well, Bob, just a few moments ago, there was a tremendous explosion from the vicinity of the Granite Court area. We are unable to determine what it was that exploded, and police officers are now moving the perimeter around this area back by another block, for safey concerns. As you can see, there is a large column of dust and debris rising up in the air over the intersection of Palmtree Drive and Adamson Avenue. Police officials are not releasing any details of this ongoing situation at this time. However, we've been made aware through anonymous sources within the police department that the they are currently in the process of serving search warrants on three residences in the Los Angeles area, evidently in connection with this case. We have been told that the LAPD's bomb squad has been dispatched to the residences in order to assist. We have not received any confirmation of injuries or fatalities in this sniper situation, but we can inform the viewers that there has been a steady stream of ambulances and medical evacuation helicopters that have been leaving the scene. In addition, the mayor's office has announced that there will be a press conference scheduled for later on this evening sometime. We have reporters standing by at that scene, and hope to bring you live coverage of that event. This situation continues to unfold and evolve rapidly, and we'll keep you abreast of any further developments as they occur. For now, Bob, we'll throw it back to you at the Action Five news desk."

THANK YOU, CHRIS, FOR THAT REPORT. FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE JUST TUNING IN, WE ARE FOLLOWING A SNIPER SITUATION IN THE VICINITY OF GRANITE COURT AND GRANITE PARK. JUST MOMENTS AGO, THAT AREA WAS ROCKED BY A LARGE EXPLOSION. WE DO NOT KNOW WHAT IT WAS THAT EXPLODED YET, NOR DO WE HAVE ANY CONFIRMATION OF INJURIES OR FATALITIES FROM THIS SITUATION. AS YOUR ACTION FIVE NEWS TEAM, WE'RE DEDICATED TO STAYING WITH THIS RAPIDLY DEVELOPING STORY, AND WILL BRING YOU UPDATES AS SOON AS THEY BECOME AVAILABLE. FOR NOW, WE WILL RETURN YOU TO REGULAR PROGRAMMING…

* * *

"Air Ten, this is One-L-20! What in the hell just happened out there?"

 

_"Mac, this is Air Ten. It looks like he blew up the parking ramp."_

_"Just the parking ramp and not the Granite Court building?"_

_"Uh…no, the Granite Court building is still standing."_

_"The Armadillo, is it still visible? Can you tell if it's been damaged or anything?"_

_"Well, it's still upright on its wheels. Can't tell if there's any significant damage to it or not. The fire truck next to it sustained damage, I can tell you that much."_

_"Sergeant Baron from One-L-20, do you copy?"_

_"Yeah, Mac, this is Gus. We copy. The bastard blew up the parking ramp when he saw us coming, taking out our best way to get him."_

_"Do you report any injuries aboard the rig?"_

_"Negative. We just got tossed to the floor, that's it. Can you tell how bad the rig is mired? Can we get it out?"_

_"I can't tell that for now, Gus. The dust is still pretty thick in the air."_

_"Mac, from Air Ten, do we know if there was anyone aboard the fire engine? From what we can visualize up here, it looks like it sustained some pretty heavy damage. And as far as getting the Armadillo out of there, it's blocked in by debris, both in the front and the back. I doubt it will be able to navigate out until the debris is cleared away."_

_"Roger, Air Ten. Did you copy that on board the Armadillo?"_

_"Yeah, Mac, we copied. The rig is stuck here for the time being. We're gonna try to get out of it, and make our way back to the command post."_

_"Roger, Gus. Just be careful."_

_"We always are, Mac, we always are."_

* * *

Inside the Armadillo

 

**5:00 P.M.**

Reed and I are picking ourselves up off of the metal floor of the Armadillo, our ears still ringing from the blast. We hear the traffic between Gus and Mac regarding the sniper blowing up the parking ramp we'd planned on using in order to bring him down. Taking a look through the portal window out the front windshield of the rig, it appears that the entire world has softly disappeared into a haze of white and grey that thickly coats the bulletproof glass.

"How close did we get to the ramp before he detonated it?" I call to Gus.

"We were just about even with the fire engine," he says.

"We need to see if we can get out of here," Reed says, rubbing his right shoulder. "Who knows what else he's got rigged to blow?"

"You okay?" I ask, nodding at his shoulder.

"Yeah, I landed on it when we were jolted to the floor," he says. "Just bruised it, I think."

Grabbing one of the handles of the door, I push on it, to no avail. Reed tries the other door, with the same luck. They're evidently jammed shut from the force of the blast. Gus tries his driver's side door, slamming his shoulder hard against it. "That's not gonna work," he says, then he slides across the seat, trying the passenger side door. It budges slightly, with a bit of a creak. Giving it a healthy kick, it pops free, and he disappears from sight. Moments later, he raps on the back of the rig. "Try pushing on them again while I pull on them," he calls to us, his voice muffled by the layers of metal plating. "The rig isn't that badly damaged, so the doors should pop open."

We shove on them again, hard, but they still won't budge. "It's not working!" Reed yells.

"Push harder!" Gus calls.

"Like we're already NOT?" Reed huffs.

"On a one-two-three, we give it our best shot," I tell Jim, bracing myself against the door. He nods, doing the same. "One, two, THREE!" I yell, as the two of us shove as hard as we can against the doors, pushing on the handles. They suddenly fly open, smacking Gus rather soundly in the face and depositing Reed and I ungracefully face-first onto the pavement. Gus yelps in pain and cups a hand to his bleeding nose, while Reed and I sit momentarily dazed in tangled heaps on the ground. Then we pick ourselves up, checking for injuries. The two of us are relatively unscathed, save for a burning scrape on my chin, a bloody lip on Jim, and minor scratches on our hands from where we threw them out to stop our inglorious exit from the rear of the Armadillo. Gus is the one with the worst injury, with what looks like a broken nose. But that is the least of our worries right now, as we gaze stunned at the suddenly changed world outside the rig.

Dust continues to drift down from the exploded parking ramp, eddying about us in pale swirls of ash grey and white, hushing the atmosphere in a soft muted blanket. It grits in my mouth, and I can taste the chalky flavor on my tongue and at the back of my throat as I breathe. It clings to us, turning our black coveralls grey. The air smells like a giant dustmop, and I suppress a sneeze. Around us, huge chunks of concrete litter the ground, as spindly pieces of rebar poke sharp, jagged fingers at the sky. The Armadillo is undamaged for the most part, the thick metal hull suffering only a few dents and dings in it, but it is hopelessly mired in the debris around it, a prehistoric creature wallowing in a dust bath. Water gushes several feet into the air from a ruptured water main nearby, the water puddling around the busted concrete and turning to grey cement sludge that sluices towards the gutters.

"Where's the fire engine?" Reed asks quietly, as we look around for any semblance of a large red truck nearby.

"There," I say, pointing to a pile of rubble that, at first glance, is just more busted concrete and rebar, but upon closer inspection, reveals what is left of Engine 51. One of the large pillars that was at the cornerstone of the parking ramp has fallen over onto the bed of the truck, turning it into a "V" shape, bending it inward so much that the rear of the truck kicks out in the back, its wheels completely off of the ground by at least a foot. Water hisses and spews from the hose hookups on the side, while another chunk of concrete has crashed down on the cab of the truck, shattering the windows and the light bar, crushing it neatly into two halves, the driver's side and the passenger side.

"Was there anyone inside of it?" Reed asks.

Gus shrugs. "Dunno," he says, still holding his hand over his nose.

I start to scale the pieces of concrete surrounding the truck, with Reed following me. The two of us slip and slide unsteadily on the gritty surfaces, but we finally reach the cab of the truck. And to our horror, there is a dusty fireman inside, trapped by the chunk of concrete that sliced so neatly through the roof. His shoulder is pinned quite tightly, and blood drips from a gash on his forehead. Reaching in, I feel at his neck for a pulse, and breath a sigh of relief when I find it. "He's still alive," I say.

"Thank God for that," Reed says. "Who is it, Stoker?"

I shake my head. "I can't tell, he's covered pretty badly in dust."

There are several shouts, and a bunch of worried, turnout-coat clad firemen swarm quickly over the pile of rubble. John Gage reaches us first. "Is he still alive?" he asks breathlessly. "Is Captain Stanley still alive?"

"He is," I tell him, moving back in order to let him in.

He reaches in and performs the same thing I did, checking at Stanley's neck for a pulse. "He's still alive!" he shouts to his crewmates.

Roy DeSoto quickly takes stock of the situation. "We'll need the Jaws, along with the porta-power," he says to Chet Kelly and Marco Lopez. "We'll also need a backboard and the stokes. Grab 'em off of 36's. Get ahold of Brackett in the triage area, tell him we'll be relaying information on our patient to him via the HT. Tell him we'll need a medevac chopper returned to the scene for transport to Rampart, once we get Cap out." He hands Kelly the HT. "We'll find the other one," he says. "It's probably in Cap's coat pocket."

"Right!" Kelly nods, and the two firemen set off back across the rubble to carry out Roy's orders.

Mike Stoker is staring at the wrecked hulk of his fire engine, a stunned look on his face. "That should be me pinned in there," he says softly. "A few minutes earlier, and it would've been."

"Mike, you can't beat yourself up over this," Roy tells him. "You had to go give your statement to the homicide team, so you had no choice. This wasn't your fault."

Johnny tugs on the driver's side door of the engine, trying to open it. "No use," he says. "It won't budge." Reaching in through the shattered side window, he fishes around momentarily, then comes up with the other HT. He hands it off to Roy.

"That'd better not be my watch you were after, pal," Hank Stanley mutters.

A look of visible relief passes across the face of the three men. "No, sir," Johnny assures him with a faint smile. "It was your wallet."

"Ha, joke's on you, Gage," Stanley tells him. "My wallet's virtually empty." Grimacing, he tries to shift position. "Oh my God," he groans. "My shoulder is killing me."

"That would be because you have part of a parking ramp resting on it right now," Gage tells him. "Try not to move, Cap. You don't want to make it any worse."

"Is that even humanely possible to make it worse?" Stanley asks. "What's the truck look like?"

"Worse than your shoulder," Gage tells him.

"Mike, what's Engine 51 look like?" Stanley asks his engineer.

"It's pretty smashed up, Cap," Stoker tells him. "It's junk for sure."

"Yeah, well, don't worry, we'll get you another one," Stanley tells him. "Top of the line model, straight from the Ward-LaFrance factory. Right off of the assembly line."

"I'm not worried about that, Cap," Stoker tells him. "I'm concerned for you right now, and how we're gonna get that chunk of concrete off of you."

Roy has been assessing the situation through the shattered windshield of the truck. "I think if we pop the door off with the Jaws, we might be able to slide a jack under the piece of concrete and raise it up just far enough to get him out," he says.

"Is the piece stable enough to do that, though?" Johnny asks him. "We don't want it shifting and injuring him worse."

"Let's get the door off first, then we'll go from there," Roy says.

Kelly and Lopez return with the requested gear, and the five firemen deftly begin to go to work. The Jaws Of Life is quickly set up, and as Gage throws a tarp over Captain Stanley to protect him from any wayward shards of glass or metal, Stoker kicks the Jaws into gear, the tool prying the metal door open with an ungodly screech of rending metal. Stoker has to shift position a couple of times, in order to keep the Jaws at a safe angle, and finally the door pops free. And when it does, Gage steps in, removing the tarp from his captain, and gently pulling Stanley's left arm free from his turnout coat. He quickly takes vitals, relaying them to Roy, who passes them along to Brackett via the HT. An IV is ordered, along with a dose of MS for pain, and while Gage is setting up the IV, the other four continue to work around him. Lopez slides a small jack in underneath Captain Stanley's legs, positioning it carefully on the floor of the truck below the chunk of concrete that has pierced the cab.

"Wait," Stoker says. "We need to brace that piece up at the top, too, so it won't slide sideways when we start jacking it up."

 _"Malloy, Reed, are the two of you planning on returning to the command post anytime soon?"_ Mac's voice asks over our CC units.  _"Sergeant Baron has already returned."_

"We're standing by here with the firefighters," I say into the unit.

 _"Are they in need of your assistance?"_ he asks sharply.

Johnny shakes his head as he hears Mac's traffic. "No, we got it. If we need help, we'll call in the medic crew from Squad 36 to help us out. You two go on ahead and get that bastard down from there, before he decides to blow up all of L.A."

Reed hesitates, then he unclips his CC unit from his harness, handing it to Gage. "If you need help, use this to call us."

"Got it," Johnny nods, and slips the CC unit into his coat pocket. "Thanks."

Scrambling and slipping back over the mounds of rubble, our boots gritting over the dirt, we reach the rear of the Armadillo once more, where we grab our rifles from the back and start to make our way down the dusty street back to the command post. As we pass the Office Furniture Warehouse, Reed catches my sleeve, stopping me. "Look at that," he murmurs, nodding to the building. The huge plate-glass display windows that were at the forefront of the building are completely blown out, with huge jagged shards littering the sidewalk. The canvas overhang is bent and twisted, while the sign for the building is hanging drunkenly from its connecting rods. All of the furniture in the display windows is coated with a thick film of dust; in fact it seems everything in the vicinity is covered in dust, including Adam-12. Even Mac's station wagon is coated. The cars in the used car lot are likewise covered. The two of us look over at the former parking ramp, the decks neatly collapsed like a tidy house of cards. "It's unreal," Reed says. "He must have known how to place the charges just so, in order for it to cave in like that."

"I'd hate to be the one to clean this mess up," I say. "City works is going to be busy for a long time out here."

A very irritated Mac is waiting for us at the command post. "What in the hell did you think you were doing over there?" he snaps.

"We were trying to help out the firefighters. Captain Stanley is pinned inside the fire engine by a chunk of concrete," Reed tells him, his own voice sharp.

"Well, you're needed back here worse than you're needed over there," Mac replies. "We've gotta come up with an alternate plan for getting Burnside down from there, since he quite literally blew the original plan to hell and back."

"We're going to be losing our light in the next hour or so," Gus tells us, a white handkerchief pressed to his nose. "So we need to come up with something, and really damned fast."

* * *

Roof of the Granite Court building

 

**5:15 P.M.**

_**Charlie Burnside waited until he was next to the fire escape entrance before he pushed the detonating device he held in his hands. He jabbed a thumb on the button, and clutching the CC unit and rifle in his other hand, he dove inside the relative safety of the building's fire escape. The thunderous explosion rocked the building, as dust and debris rained down hard on the rooftop of the Granite Court building, remnants of the parking ramp. A choking cloud of dust puffed into the fire escape entrance, and he quickly turned his back to it, lest it blind him. It settled whitely around him, the grit powdering the steps and the small landing. As the dust began to clear, he cautiously made his way back outside, the CC unit in one hand, his rifle in the other. The black of the rooftop was turned an unearthly grey from the blown-to-smithereens ramp, while chunks of concrete and rebar were scattered haphazardly around. His equipment hadn't escaped the blast; his footlocker and his tripod were coated with grit, while the protective tarp he'd rigged up had collapsed like a deflated balloon. Fire alarms sounded shriekingly in the Granite Court building, and he heard the hiss of the sprinkler system being activated. His boots crunching in the dust, he made his way over to the edge of the roof and peered over at the destruction below.** _

_**The structure of the parking ramp was completely destroyed, the upper decks pancaking down to ground level. The support pillars were broken and crumbled, like jagged fingers reaching up to the sky. T** _ _**he vehicles that had been parked in the lot across the street were covered in dust. The bodies of the slain that were on the pavement were likewise covered, sad little grey mounds of death. Glass from the blown-out windows in the Granite Court building glittered up at him like precious jewels. Charlie's rental truck was buried under a mound of debris. The Armadillo the SWAT team had been using sat mired, just barely visible in the haze of concrete dust. One of the side pillars of the parking ramp had landed on the fire enging that was parked across Adamson Avenue, rendering the truck an unrecognizable heap of dust-covered red metal. Another chunk of parking ramp had landed in the middle of the truck's cab, piercing it neatly down the middle. White and grey particles swam through the air, obscuring his vision of the Armadillo and the fire truck for a bit.** _

_**After the dust had begun to settle, he noticed that the SWAT team had already exited the Armadillo. Malloy and Reed were assisting the fire crew in freeing their man that was evidently pinned in the truck by the chunk of concrete pressing on the cab, while Sergeant Baron had already returned to the command post. Over the CC unit he clutched in his hand, Burnside heard Sergeant MacDonald order Malloy and Reed back to the command post. Once they returned, Burnside studied them as they stood around the rear of the logistics truck, evidently formulating another plan to get him down. He let them plan for awhile, then he pushed the button on his CC unit and began to speak into it, the first words they would heard from the madman himself, since this whole incident began.** _

* * *

Command Post

 

**5:45 P.M.**

Gus is studying the blueprints for the Granite Court building in the back of the logistics truck. "Since he's blown the original plan of using the ramp to get him, what if we had the chopper shoot teargas onto the roof, then had the team go in with air packs on, and get him that way?" he asks.

"The chopper would have to get pretty close to him in order to get the tear gas canister onto the roof. It's too risky. He's liable to shoot the bird out of the air. And even if he doesn't, he can move fast enough and kick the canister over the side of the building before it does much damage," Mac tells him.

"What if we went in with tear gas and lobbed it at him?" Reed asks. "We could borrow air packs from the firefighters, and go in that way."

"Two problems with that," Mac says. "Number one, he's going to see you guys coming with the tear gas gun and realize what's up, and number two, he's liable to take the advantage and gun you down before you even reach the building to shoot the gas in."

"And even if he didn't, your chances of being successful that way is pretty slim," says the contractor, Mike Hanson. "The stairwell to the roof access has only a small landing on it. If he stands in the doorway of the fire escape, he's got a clear shot at nailing you guys before you'd even reach the final flight of stairs. And if you'd shoot the gas just onto the fourth floor area, you'd have to use a lot of it to even hope it would reach him and disable him. If he's turned the electricity off to the building, the ventilation fans won't be working, so there'd be no suction to draw the tear gas out onto the roof."

"There's no back fire escape?" Mac asks.

Hanson shakes his head. "No, the developer of the building didn't want it. And for the estimated capacity of the building, even at its peak times, fire code doesn't require it. As long as the building has a working sprinkler system and at least one fire escape access, it's not needed." He thinks a moment. "What about having the helicopter shoot at him from the air?" he asks.

Mac shakes his head. "Again, too risky. They'd have to fly pretty close to him in order to get the shot off, and even then, it's dicey. The shot could go wild and miss him completely."

"So it looks like we end up waiting him out," Reed says morosely, watching the crew of Station 51 as they continue to work to free Captain Stanley from the wreckage of Engine 51. They're working very carefully, in order not to injure him any further.

"I hate to say it, but it's beginning to look that way," Mac says. "We're gonna have to call in lighting trucks so we can keep an eye on the bastard throughout the night. We'll have to tighten the perimeter around the building, so he can't slip away out a back or side exit." Mac looks over at Gus. "You might as well go ahead and activate some more SWAT members, both for relief and for perimeter work." He picks up the radio mike in the logistics truck. "Dispatch from One-L-20?"

 _"This is dispatch, One-L-20, go ahead,"_ replies the dispatcher.

"We're gonna need lighting trucks dispatched out here to the scene for night work, until this scene is resolved. Tell them to bring enough fuel to power the generators for at least twenty-four hours." He hands the mike to Gus. "Do you want to give the order to activate more SWAT members?"

Gus takes it from him. "This is Sergeant Baron, giving the order to go ahead and activate more SWAT team members to this location, for relief and perimeter work," Gus says into the radio mike. He hands it back to Mac.

 _"Dispatch copies, will have lighting trucks en route, and will activate more SWAT members,"_ the dispatcher says.

"You two might as well stand down," Gus says, nodding to Reed and I. "We're not sending you in any more, so you might as well take off the vests and helmets. You two won't be part of the team guarding the perimeter."

I undo the straps of the helmet, setting it down on the ground next to Mac's car. I run a quick hand through my hair, plastered to my skull with sweat, then I undo the military harness next. Finally I unfasten the straps on the bulletproof vest and remove it, laying it alongside the helmet. My t-shirt and coveralls are drenched with perspiration, and I unzip the coveralls a little, in order to cool off a bit.

Reed does the same, removing his helmet, harness, and vest, laying them next to mine. He swipes a hand through his own sweat-drenched hair, and unzips his coveralls a bit, too, to cool off. "So we just stand around and wait now, is that it?" he asks.

"We have no choice," Mac tells him.

There's a sharp burst of static over our CC units, then a voice speaks.  **"** _How'd you guys like that big bang? It was quite a blast, wouldn't you say?"_  A chuckle follows.

We exchange startled looks. "Who in the hell is this?" Mac asks into the CC unit. "Get off of this frequency! It's an official police channel!"

 _"Oh, come now, Mac. Don't you recognize your old pal, Charlie Burnside?"_ the voice chides.  _"Gee, that hurts my feelings. I thought you'd know who this is."_

"What in the hell do you want?" Mac growls.

 _"Just to chat a bit,"_ Burnside cheerfully replies.  _"So tell me, how have you guys been enjoying this show so far? From my standpoint, I'd say it's downright exhilarating, wouldn't you?"_

"I wouldn't call killing innocent people exhilarating, Burnside," Mac snaps. "I'd call it downright evil, you sick sonofabitch."

_"Now, now, Mac, let's not resort to name-calling here. It's not very professional, I must say."_

"You're one to talk about professionalism, Burnside," Mac snaps. "We're not going to negotiate with you, if that's what you're thinking," he tells him.

_"Who said anything about negotiating? Trust me, there's nothing that you have that I want. I didn't do this to negotiate. I did this for revenge. Because Charles Burnside doesn't get mad, he gets even."_

"This is a helluva way to get even, Burnside," Mac tells him. "You killed a lot of innocent folks out there, and wounded a lot more, including kids."

_"So? Ask me if I really care, Mac. I just wanted to show the world that when they crap on Charlie Burnside, he won't stand for it."_

"But why innocent people, Burnside?" Mac asks. "What did they ever do to you?"

 _"What DIDN'T they do to me?"_ Burnside asks.  _"They were there, always laughing at me behind my back. They've always kept me from reaching my full potential. They stabbed me in my back while laughing in my face. They stood by and let my career go down the tubes. Everyone had it in for Charlie Burnside. So now Charlie Burnside has it in for them. And I'd say I exacted my just dues quite nicely, hunting humans down like they were big game targets. Lined 'em up in my rifle sights like they were little ducks in a shooting gallery."_

"The loss of your job was your doing, Burnside, not theirs," Mac tells him. "You're the one who got caught using the authority of the badge to rough people up after you'd arrested them. It wasn't a bum beef. It was legitimate, and the board realized that. You got yourself fired, Charlie, because you couldn't control your temper. It wasn't the citizens of Los Angeles that did that to you. You can't blame them for your shortcomings."

_"Yeah, sure, Mac. You keep on believing what those freakin' boy scouts Jim Reed and Al Porter told you. I'm sure you sleep well at night."_

Reed snatches Gus' CC unit out of his hands and depresses the button to talk. "We only told the truth, Burnside. And you damn well know it, too. Two separate people aren't going to lie about seeing you roughing arrestees up, especially after you landed that one guy in the hospital with pretty serious injuries. You can't keep something like police brutality hidden behind the badge, Burnside. You were a lousy cop, you just can't admit it."

Mac frowns. "Where's your CC unit, Reed?" he asks.

"I left it with John Gage, in case they needed to call us for extra help," Jim tells him. "He'll give it back, don't worry."

 _"Yeah, well, thanks to your bright and shiny halo, I lost everything, Reed. My job, my wife, my kids, my home. I ended up taking a shitty job in construction, just to pay my bills. And if my former supervisor is standing there, ask him how he likes what I did with his goddamned ramp."_ Burnside hesitates.  _"But you know, I took care of it all. My ex-wife and her fabulous new husband don't have to worry about being bothered by me anymore. Same with my kids and my parents. I killed them all last night as they slept. Never knew what hit them. Sent 'em all to hell where they rightfully belong."_

"You had no right to do any of this, Charlie," Mac tells him. "No right at all. What you've done here this afternoon is an outrage. Not to mention cold-blooded mass murder."

_"Ask me if I give a good goddamn. Those people down there, those innocent people, as you call them, were just viable targets. Collateral damage, you know. Like in war. A few innocent civilians get killed in an offensive from either warring side, and it's not mass murder, it's collateral damage."_

"This isn't war, Burnside, and you know it," Mac says.

_"Hey Reed, I'm curious. What did it feel like to have that kid die in your arms that way? I splattered her brains all over your nice bulletproof vest, didn't I? That's pretty good aim, I'd say, taking her head off with just one shot."_

"It felt like shit, Burnside, and you should know that," Reed snaps.

_"And you, Malloy, tell me, how did it feel knowing that if I hadn't of been aiming right, instead of that dumb bitch taking the bullet, you would have gotten it, right in the old heart. Guess that was a lucky shot, huh? In essence, she saved you…not that I was aiming at you to begin with. I saw her fighting with you, and decided to put an end to it."_

"She was upset we'd left her kids that you'd already murdered behind," I say into my CC unit. "She wanted us to go back for them."

_"Well, how touching. Now they're reunited in Heaven."_

"How can you even begin to justify what you've done here today?" I ask.

_"Justice is blind, pal. As a cop, you oughta know that quite well."_

"Look, Burnside, we don't have all night to stand around and listen to you yap," Mac tells him. "You have two choices. You can either come down on your own power, or we can take you down in a body bag. It's up to you."

_"Funny, I thought I had a third choice. How about if I stay up here and wait you jackasses out?"_

"Not gonna happen, Burnside. We aren't tying up city resources just for a scumbag like you," Mac tells him, trying to call his bluff.

_"I'd be mighty careful who you're calling a scumbag there, Sergeant. It seems to me that I heard around about a couple of your own angels having dirty faces. I read about your one choirboy, Jim Reed, getting caught up in an off-duty shooting and killing a guy. I heard the board ruled in his favor, but still. If he's trigger-happy while off the clock, what is he ON the clock?"_

"I was exonerated in that shooting," Jim tells him. "Pete helped find the car that the other hold-up guy drove away. I never faced any disciplinary action because of that shooting, it was ruled I acted in my own self-defense."

 _"But see, you had to have dear old Pete save you,"_ Burnside says.  _"Like he has lots of other times, Reed. Whaddaya gonna do, Reed, when Pete isn't around to save you anymore?"_

"That's what good partners do, Burnside, in case you've forgotten. They look out for one another," Reed says.

_"Yes, I do recall that, Reed. And if I heard correctly, your good partner went and pulled a stunt like I would have pulled. He beat the shit out of an alleged child molestor, and ended up getting suspended, didn't he?"_

"I took my suspension without complaint," I tell him. "I knew that what I did was wrong, very wrong. I let my emotions get control of me in that one circumstance. And you can be sure it will never happen again, Burnside."

_"Really, Malloy? Sounds to me like you might have a bit of an anger issue there. If Reed hadn't of stepped in and ordered you to stand down, you would have likely killed that guy, wouldn't you? If that isn't a red warning flag to your superiors, I don't know what is. And here I thought that Central Division got rid of the bad apple when they fired me."_

"Pete was disciplined to the fullest extent the board deemed necessary," Mac tells him. "It was a once-in-a-lifetime mistake, and it's not one he'll repeat again."

_"Oh yes, just go to bat for your two favorite officers, Mac. Don't think that I didn't realize who the pets were in the division under your command. It was blatantly obvious you favored Reed and Malloy over the other cops. And it's a good thing, too. Especially since they had to go to bat for you in regards to you getting into a car accident while in your on-duty vehicle. How's it feel, knowing that if they hadn't of stepped in, your long career with the police force would have been over?"_

"I was cleared of any wrong-doing, Burnside," Mac tells him.

 _"But see, even the choirboys have dirty hems on their saintly white robes,"_ Burnside chuckles.

"Don't you DARE lump us in with the scummy likes of you, Burnside," Reed tells him sharply. "What we've been in trouble for is minor compared to what you've done."

 _"Oh, what's the matter Reed, think you're too good for that now?"_  Burnside asks snidely.  _"Rumor has it through the grapevine that your nice little marriage has hit the rocks. And I'll tell you something, pal. On the nights that you're not at home with your dear little wifey, sweet Jean dumps your brat off onto a neighbor and goes out and hits the bars."_

Reed's eyes widen and he draws in a gasp of air. "You asshole! You're lying about that! Jean would never do that to me! Never!"

_"But she does, pal. I know, because I've staked your house out many nights, and I've followed her there. I've even gone into the bar and cozied up to her myself. Of course, she doesn't know who I am, but we've played more than footsie under the table, if you get my drift. Once she gets a few drinks in her, she gets a little wild. Maybe you should take some pointers from me, Reed, on how to arouse your little woman's passion in the bedroom. Seems that's one area that she feels you're lacking in."_

"YOU BASTARD!" Jim yells into the CC unit. "Don't you DARE talk about my wife that way! She's pregnant, so she wouldn't be out drinking in a bar!"

 _"I know she's pregnant, pal. But that doesn't stop her from drinking anyway. And I'd definitely make sure that you're the daddy of her brat after she has it,"_ Burnside laughs.  _"Unless you like playing cuckhold to your wife's affairs. Some guys do, after all. It gives them a thrill, knowing that their wife has been out screwing other men. "_

"Oh my God," Jim moans, sagging heavily against the rear of the logistics truck. He rubs his forehead, his hand shaking. "I can't believe what I'm hearing."

"He's just trying to rile you," I tell him. "You know Jean would never do that to you. Burnside is nothing more than a lying sack of shit, and you should know that, Jim."

" _And you, Malloy, if you think you're above all this, too, you have another think coming,_ " Burnside says.  _"You know, they say that what you despise in other people, you secretly despise in yourself. So when you were beating the crap out of the child molestor, were you secretly beating yourself up? You're a closet kiddy perv, is that it? Do you like little boys or little girls, Pete? Is that why you're dating that woman…what's her name…Judy, I believe? So you can have access to her young son, David?"_

I know I just told Jim that Burnside was trying to rile him, but white-hot anger rushes through my veins and I feel my blood pounding in my brain as I hear my good character being dragged through the vicious mud of Burnside's mind. "Why you little rat bastard sonofabitch," I snarl into the CC unit. "I oughta…"

 _"You oughta what, Pete? Come up here and kill me? Well, what's stopping you? You know where I'm at, so come and get me,"_ he teases.

"I'm the one who won't let them come after you, Burnside," Mac tells him. "I refuse to risk the lives of two good officers for a scumbag like you."

 _"You know, I'm getting a little tired of you guys calling me names,"_ Burnside says, his tone sharp. _"A man can only take so much, and then he snaps. And I've certainly had enough of you three running me down."_

"So come down here and fight it out with us," Mac challenges. "Unless you're chicken, Burnside."

 _"I told you, I don't get mad, I get even,"_ Burnside warns.

Suddenly there's a shot from the rooftop, and one of the firefighters working atop the fire engine lets out a scream of pain, toppling forward, clutching at his shoulder.

"Sonofabitch!" Reed says, his eyes wide. "He just shot one of the fire crew! I thought his rifle range didn't reach that far!" He pushes the button on his CC unit. "Engine 51, who just got shot?"

Gage's frantic voice comes over the CC unit Reed left with him.  _"Hey, that bastard just shot Stoker in the shoulder!"_ he says.  _"We've got the Captain free now, and we're getting the hell out of here before he shoots any more of us!"_

"How badly injured is Stoker?" Reed asks.

 _"Don't know. He's able to walk, so we'll check it out once we get back to safety,"_ Gage tells him.

In the waning daylight, we see the five firefighters coming back over the pile of rubble surrounding the remains of Engine 51, carrying the stokes containing Captain Stanley carefully as they crawl over the slabs of concrete. Burnside fires no more shots at them as they climb, and soon the six of them are back within the safety perimeter. As they hurry past us to triage, Captain Stanley is lying umoving on the metal stokes, his face a mask of pain. Mike Stoker is holding his right hand to his left shoulder, as blood seeps out between his fingers and makes bright red tracks in the dust on his coat. "Get that bastard, even if you have to drop an A-bomb on him," Gage tells us as he hands us the CC unit back. Then he hurries to catch up to his fellow crew members.

" _How'd you like that?"_ Burnside asks.  _"I told you, I don't get mad, I get even. And I'll let you in on a little secret. That ramp wasn't the only thing I have rigged to blow. There's other buildings that are targeted."_

"Like what buildings?" Mac asks.

 _"Wouldn't you like to know,"_ chuckles Burnside.  _"Do you honestly think I would be that stupid to tell you, just so you can evacuate them? You know, I might even have dynamite planted around your homes, too, set to detonate by a hidden tripwire. Anyone in your house crosses that tripwire, and it's so long family!"_ He laughs again.  _"Like to see your pretty little wife and your little boy blown to bits, Jimbo? And you, Pete, how about if Judy walks into your apartment with her son, and trips off the dynamite. It'll not only kill the two of them, but also anyone else in your building. And Mac, your wife, son, and daughter, they could be nothing more than tiny pieces if they set it off."_

Mac's eyes are wide as they meet ours. "Shit, we don't know if he's bluffing or telling the truth!" Grabbing up the radio mike, he begins giving the dispatcher frantic orders. "Dispatch from One-L-20, I need you to send units to the Reed residence, the Malloy residence, and the MacDonald residence, and evacuate the occupants immediately! Then get the bomb squads out there, pronto!"

 _"One-L-20 from dispatch, the bomb squads are still working at clearing the three previous residences where the search warrants are being executed,"_  the dispatcher tells him.

"Those places can wait!" Mac snaps. "This is an emergency! There may be bombs rigged to blow up at the residences I just gave you! Tell them they need to move carefully, but quickly!"

"That does it!" Reed snarls. "I'm getting that bastard once and for all!" He grabs up one of the rifles, and sets off at a run down the street, headed right into Burnside's line of fire.

"DAMN IT REED, GET BACK HERE!" Mac yells at him. "THAT'S AN ORDER!"

But Jim doesn't pay any attention as he crawls over the chunks of rubble, rifle slung over his shoulder. They're mere pebbles in a pond to him right now, as he makes his way across them with a singleminded purpose.

Momentarily stunned at his sudden rash and rather stupid decision, I watch his progress, then reaching down, I quickly pull my service revolver from the holster on the military harness, slipping it into a pocket on my coveralls, then I grab up a rifle and start after him. Mac catches my sleeve, stopping me. "Where in the hell do you think you're going?" he hisses at me.

"After him," I say, nodding towards Reed. I clip my CC unit to a pocket on my coveralls. "I'll let you know if we make it to the building."

"I'm not gonna let you do that," Mac says sharply. "It's suicide."

"It's also my friend and partner that's going after that nutcase," I snap. "And you're not stopping me."

"I'm giving you a direct order not to go in there, Malloy," Mac warns.

"Screw orders," I tell him, yanking my arm out of his grasp with an angry glare. "I'm not gonna let him get killed if I can help it." And with that, for the first time in my career, I willingly disobey the orders of my superior officer in order to try and save my friend. I'll deal with the consequences later. I hear Mac yelling angrily at me as I follow after Jim Reed, making my way down the dusty street. I'm not as agile as Jim was going over the chunks of concrete, and I lose my footing, sliding hard down one slab and gashing my knee open on a sharp piece of rebar. With a hiss of pain, I pick myself up, as blood trickles down my leg. I hurry on, passing the mired Armadillo, waiting for the shots from Burnside to ring out, the shots that will end the life of myself and Jim Reed. By the time I get to the second pile of rubble to climb over, I see that Jim has already reached the front entrance to the Granite Court building, and is going in. Rifle slung over my shoulder, I scale the second mound of crushed and chunked concrete, and soon reach the Granite Court entrance myself, without Burnside shooting me. I send up a hurried thanks to whoever was watching over us from Heaven, then I step across the threshold of the building, the wooden doors hanging skewed from their frames, the glass shattered out of them. And when I enter, I am momentarily stopped by the hellish scene before me.

Inside the building, the explosion has activated the sprinkler system, and the water rains down, turning the granite flooring into a sea nearly four inches high. Bits of debris float in the murky water, and small pieces of concrete and glass crunch under my boots as I wade through, avoiding the sprinkler-rain overhead. The air inside is humid, and smells like wet carpeting and concrete, and burnt wiring. Fire alarms shriek loudly, and emergency strobe lights flash off and on, evidently powered by a back-up generator. It's like the disco from Hell. As I reach the stairs, water sluices gracefully down them from the upper floors, a merry gurgling fountain of grey slimy water, dust and dirt from the blown-out ramp next door, along with other pieces of unknown debris. The Granite Court building has drowned itself. The lighting offered by the dizzying strobe lights is pretty dim, so I dig my flashlight out of my back pocket, flicking it on.

I click the CC unit with a thumb. "I'm in the building," I say tersely, pushing the button on the CC unit so it will remain on, keeping those on the ground abreast of what's happening inside the building. I know I'm cutting off the traffic from the command post by doing that, but I figure I'd rather they know what's going on here than keeping the lines of communication open. I start to make my way up the stairs, the rifle clutched firmly in my grip. I keep my ears peeled for the sound of a gunshot, but over the din of the fire alarms, I doubt I'd hear it. My boots squish uncomfortably as I climb the steps, the beam of my flashlight guiding me. When I reach the fourth floor and the final stairwell, I duck my head cautiously around the corner of the wall, trying to get a visual on the layout. The final flight of steps has a small landing at the top, and the doorway to the rooftop is propped open by a cement block. There's not much cover on the landing; one side is the metal railing, while the other is basically the doorframe set into the wall. I'll be walking right into Burnside's line of fire. I close my eyes, sending up a prayer, then I lay down on my stomach, crawling on my belly to what is likely my death. When I reach the landing, I quietly come to my feet as fast as I can, keeping the wall the doorframe and railing is set into between me and the open door to the roof. The door is not held open all the way, and I use that to my advantage as I listen for any sounds from either Burnside or Reed. Hearing none, I take a deep breath, then I sidle carefully out onto the rooftop, my rifle at the ready, my finger on the trigger. And what I see before me stops me dead in my tracks, icy horror and shock rapidly flooding my veins.

"Looking for something?" Burnside asks quite casually, a smirk plastered across his face. "Like maybe your partner here?" He has Jim Reed down on his knees, a revolver pointed at the back of Jim's head. Reed's hands are on top of his head, and he faces me, his expression not one of fright, but one of deep resignation. His rifle lies discarded nearby. "It seems to me that what we have here is a gen-yoo-wine Mexican standoff."

"Pete, he's got a bomb strapped to him," Reed tells me in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he were reading one of his stupid horoscopes.

"And just in case you don't believe him, Malloy," Burnside smiles, lifting up his shirt, showing a neat row of dynamite and wiring strapped around his chest. He waves the small, box-like detonator he's holding in his hand up for me to see. "So you see, I'm serious. Deadly serious. Even if you are fast enough on the draw and can outshoot me, my finger will still twitch and set the detonator off, blowing us all to bits."

"Don't end it this way, Burnside," I tell him in a low tone.

"Why?" he shrugs, still grinning. "This was the way I intended to end it. With a final big bang. My blaze of glory, you know. After this, I'll be famous. Instead of being known as the cop who got fired for brutality, I'll be known as the Granite Park Sniper. And I think I like that title better."

"Look, do you really want to die, Burnside?" I ask. "Like this? Having your body ripped to shreds by dynamite? It's not gonna be a pretty way to go. If you wanna die so badly, why don't you just stick the barrel of that gun in your mouth and blow your head off? It's less messy that way."

"Oh, but this way, I get to take the two of you assholes out along with me," he says. "There won't be much of your bodies left for your loved ones to identify." He makes a fake sad face. "How tragic. There won't be enough of you two left to even put in a coffin. So they'll have to mourn over an empty box."

"At least spare Jim," I tell him. "He's got a wife and kid, and another one on the way. They depend upon him. Don't do this to him. If you want to kill me along with you, then fine."

"Hmmm…" Burnside muses thoughtfully. "No, I think I'll pass. I'll take the two of you out with me. It's my form of justice. Now the only way it would be better is if that whiny puke Al Porter were here with us. Then my justice would be complete." He laughs, poking Reed sharply in the back of his skull with the muzzle of the gun. "This is gonna be great. I'm going to execute your partner in front of you, so you can see the look on his face as his brains blow apart. But don't worry, Malloy. You'll only have a second or so to grieve before I push the detonator and finish us both off. How does that sound?

"Lousy," I tell him. I shift my gaze down to Jim, my eyes meeting his. They hold defeat and dark sorrow in them. The two of us have come close to death before in our careers, but we've always managed to escape somehow. But now, on this rooftop, I know that we won't cheat death this time. Burnside holds all the cards. Weary resignation seeps into my bones, and I lower the rifle in my hands. "You win, Burnside," I tell him simply. "You win."

"Well, don't look so sad, Malloy," Burnside chides. "After all, the two of you will be dying together. I think that's rather fitting."

Off in the distance, I hear the sound of a rapidly approaching helicopter. I ignore it, figuring it to be one of the medevac choppers taking off with the wounded firemen aboard. I keep my eyes on Burnside, hoping for a last-ditch opening to save our lives. But it comes closer, and I risk a quick glance at it, seeing the LAPD emblem on the side of it as it angles over the park, just over Burnside's shoulder. Then it swings towards us, swooping rapidly to Burnside's right, flying so close that it looks like it could nearly land on top of us. The chopper blades kick up dust and dirt, and I don't even have time to think as I instinctively duck when the helicopter buzzes overhead. And then everything happens so fast, if I blinked, I would have missed the entire sequence of events.

As Burnside stares dumbfounded at the chopper whipping overhead, Reed takes advantage of the distraction and shoots his hand up, ripping the detonator out of Burnside's hand, while raring backwards with his upper body, hitting Burnside squarely in the abdomen, groin and legs, crumpling Burnside in half and sending him plummeting over the edge of the roof to his death. The two of us hit the deck, waiting for the dynamite around Burnside's waist to explode, but it doesn't. Evidently Reed's snatch of the detonator disabled the bomb.

The two of us heave ourselves to our feet. "You okay?" I ask.

"Yeah, you?" Reed asks me.

"I'm fine, but I could've done without these last few minutes," I tell him.

"You and me both," he says, studying the detonator that he still clutches in his hand. With a grimace, he gently lays it down on top of the open footlocker. "We came pretty damned close that time, Pete." He leans over the edge of the parapet, looking down below. "Too damned close, if you ask me."

I make my way across the roof and stand next to him, peering down at what's left of Charlie Burnside on the pavement. For someone who held us in such a reign of terror these last few hours, he's been reduced to nothing more than a twisted and crumpled grotesque bag of blood and splintered bones. "He's been neutralized," I say into my CC unit. "Burnside has been neutralized." I click the button off, in order to hear Mac's reply.

"Good job," Mac tells us, his voice crackling with static and anger. "You can thank Air Ten for pulling your asses out of the frying pan at the very last minute. Now get back down here. The two of you are in serious trouble for disobeying direct orders."

I don't answer, I turn the CC unit off instead. A wave of weariness hits me suddenly and shakily, I lean on the parapet, looking out over the numerous bodies scattered in the park and the street down below. My knees feel weak, and I turn around, sliding on my back down the wall, until I'm sitting on my butt on the dusty rooftop. "It's over," I say, tiredly. "It's finally over."

Reed doesn't respond right away, he continues to stare off into the distance, his gaze focused on some inward focal point in his mind. "Why?" he asks quietly. "Why take an ordinary day and turn it into one filled with so much death and destruction?"

"He was crazy," I say simply. "Charlie Burnside was a grade-A, number-one psychopath."

He imitates me, sliding down the wall until he's sitting next to me. "That's not much of an answer, Pete," he says.

"It's all I can offer you," I tell him. I look over at him. "How in the hell did he manage to get the drop on you in the first place?" I ask. "Why didn't you shoot him with your rifle the moment you saw him?"

"The goddamned rifle jammed," he says. "That's how he got the drop on me." He rubs his forehead. "And then Pete Malloy came riding in like the cavalry, in order to save me."

"It wasn't me who saved you," I tell him. "You saved yourself."

"I saved both of us," he says.

"Actually, I think Air Ten got the ball rolling, as far as rescues go," I say. "Without the diversion of the chopper, we'd be goners."

"After all of this, how does it ever go back to being an ordinary day?" he asks wearily. "Tell me that, Pete."

"We just pick up and go on," I tell him. "And eventually, things will get back to normal, you'll see."

"Sure," he says, his voice skeptical. "I'm not sure I know what normal is right now. Not in anything. Not in my job, not in my marriage. It's like normal has ceased to exist for Jim Reed, and what's left in its place is a completely different world, one I'm not sure I can adapt to."

"You will," I tell him. "You'll adapt yourself to the changes, whatever they may be."

He stares at me. "You sure about that, Pete?"

I hesitate. "No," I reply. "I'm not."

"Didn't think so," he says, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes.

A cool breeze teases gently across the roof, bringing with it a salty tang to the air. I tilt my head back, staring at the deepening twilight above, as the first stars of the evening begin to speckle out. I close my eyes, as the nursery rhyme from my childhood plays through my head.  _Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, get the wish I wish tonight…I wish that for Jim Reed's sake, his life returns to normal, and soon._  Huffing a sigh, I open my eyes and glance over at Reed, who still has his eyes closed. I gaze up at the sky once more, picking out the star I wished on. I think for a moment, then I close my eyes once more, casting out another wish, more of a hope, really.  _And please let us be able to eventually remember the innocence and beauty of all the ordinary days ahead of us, as far off as they may seem. After this, I promise that neither of us will ever take them for granted again..._

* * *

…WE INTERRUPT THIS BROADCAST TO BRING YOU THE FOLLOWING NEWS BULLETIN. THE LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT HAS NOW CONFIRMED THAT THE SNIPER SITUATION IN THE GRANITE COURT AREA HAS NOW BEEN NEUTRALIZED, BRINGING AN END TO THE NEARLY DAY-LONG SIEGE. OFFICIALS WILL NOT COMMENT ON HOW THE SNIPER SITUATION WAS BROUGHT UNDER CONTROL, NOR HAVE THEY CONFIRMED THAT THE SNIPER WAS KILLED BY POLICE GUNMEN. FOR FURTHER INFORMATION ON THIS STORY, WE GO TO OUR ACTION FIVE NEWS REPORTER LIVE ON THE SCENE, CHRISTOPHER ENGLAND. CHRIS, WHAT CAN YOU TELL US ABOUT THESE NEWEST DEVELOPMENTS IN THIS HORRIFIC CASE?

"Well, Bob, as you can see, the scene behind me is markedly different than it was earlier..."


End file.
